


Misc Modern AUs

by Feynite, SeleneLavellan



Series: Dirthalene [14]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Accountants AU, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Assassin AU, Blind Date but whoops we hooked up once before, Concert But Backwards, Drunken Bet Marriage, F/M, Feynite Fanwork, Mail of Destiny, Marriage Contracts, Set up by my boss/your dad but dont tell him its working, Something about birds?, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Storming the castle, compilation fic, haunted au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 23:27:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17089760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: One Shots and Assorted Fics from my Tumblr that take place in modern settings, often with magic and shenanigans.





	1. So, I found this waterfall…

**  
** He purrs it into her ear, the sun barely set over the line of the trees.

She swats at the hand on her shoulder, insisting on  _work_  and  _responsibilities_ and grumbling something about how he’s tracking dirt into her aravel.

But when the embers finally burn out of their camps fire, her fingers lace through his in the shelter of shadows and she lets him whisk her off all the same.

 

Des follows the trail of scorch-marks he left for himself during the earlier hunt, leading him back towards the waterfall that hides the cave he’s prepared for her.

There’s no way to avoid a soak, no safe ledge to crawl or climb. He pulls her into the lake with him, the pair swimming under the dangerous falling water and coming up for air on the other side. It’s dark, and cold, but a quick snap of his fingers and the torches he’s arranged over the course of the week light without problem, allowing Selene to find footing and step onto the dry rock without stumbling.

Her legs are looking especially long as she carefully unravels her wraps and he takes a moment to enjoy the view in the torchlight before finally joining her. His own outfit is light, already disrobed of most of the usual protective layers, and he removes the remains in a single, swift motion.

She snorts.

“You could have warned me not to wear so many pieces.”

“I tried; you told me to stop hitting on you where the others could see.”

“Telling me to come naked to save time is  _hardly_  the same thing.”

“Sounds the same to me…” He hums, voice light and teasing as her fingers untie the long sash around her waist.

  
Once her top is bared, Des settles his arms around her and pulls her close. Her chest presses against his own and he lets out a happy sigh at the warmth of it.

“We can’t keep doing this,” She mumbles against his forehead, even as her own arms curl around his back.

“We could do it forever if you wanted to,” Des argues.

“I’m being bound next week-”

“A mistake.”

“-and Haleir isn’t known for being understanding.”

“So don’t bond with him. Sounds like an easy fix.”

Selene lets out a sigh, her lips pulling away from his skin. He tightens his own hold on her in retaliation, one of his hands stroking gently up and down her side.

  
“He’s already built the aravel.”

“And you already  _have_  an aravel.”

“It was my fathers dying wish, Des-”

“Your father was an ass, and you don’t owe him anything.”

Selene just shakes her head exasperatedly; it’s an argument they’ve been having for nearly a month now, and she’s yet to figure out a comeback for that one.

Which doesn’t stop her from trying.

Or him, from using her distraction to create another.

  
  


His fingers slide between her legs, her core already hot and wet with something thicker than water. His thumb rubs absently over the sensitive nub while his index finger carefully follows the seam of her while she struggles to remember what words even  _are_.

She lets out a soft sigh, the sort that means she’s finally relaxing and forgetting about salves and potions and responsibilities, and rocks back against his hand.

Her mouth finds his, plush and pliant and just a little sweet from the sugarcane pieces she keeps tucked in her pouch. His tongue delves into her mouth, hungry and exploratory and more than a little greedy. His hips push against her thigh, and his erection shrinks back at the cold of the cloth still clinging to her. A soft growl rises from him as he pulls his hand away from the warmth of her to discard the final wet scraps of her work clothes, tossing them haphazardly into a pile somewhere else in their cave. Selene snorts, pushing her hips back against his and, ah, that’s better, his erection springs readily back to life, eager and ready for action.

But the floor is cold, and he can barely see the flames bouncing in her eyes.

That simply won’t do.

 

He lifts her up, grinning at the quiet squeak she makes at the motion and pins her up against the wall. The torches light up her figure in a way that makes him want to taste his way across the planes of her  _now_ , but she is still wet and her hair is cold and they both need the body heat sooner than later.

Dessert is supposed to come after, anyways.

 

He fits a single finger into her, and she stretches easily around him, a moan escaping her lips that sounds suspiciously like his name. He bites a trail of kisses up the curve of her neck, tongue laving over the light bruises he leaves in his wake while she arches against him.

Her hand finally finds his cock, spreading the pre-cum already waiting near the tip as she strokes him, full and long and he pumps his hips into her hand and he whispers promises and obscenities into her ear until she is shivering with need, and he can fit a second and third finger inside her with ease. She helps line him up with her entrance, and he enters her in one quick, smooth stroke, arms hooking underneath her knees to lift her off the floor entirely.

Her arms loop around his neck, fingers curling in his hair as her nails scrape wonderfully against his scalp and he thrusts in and out of her at a greedy pace that might worry him if he wasn’t already confident and experienced in the knowledge that she can handle it.

 

“Come away with me,” He finally offers between breaths, his eyes staring into hers as she opens them.

“You don’t mean that,” She whispers back.

“Of course I do,” he argues, fucking into her harder to emphasize his point. “I always mean it.”

“You’re just saying it because your dick is wet. You’re not thinking straight,” She manages between panted breaths, her hands pressed roughly against his shoulder-blades in a vain attempt to lift herself.

“I’ve never had a straight thought in my life, you take that back,” he grins, teeth nipping at her earlobe as he finally makes contact with  _that_  piece of her and she lets out a long moan.

“Fuck Haleir,” he grits out, letting one of her legs fall to wrap the arm around her, claws digging into her back to pull her even closer. “Actually, don’t. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  
She laughs at that, her cunt tightening deliciously around him with the motion and wringing another greedy growl from his chest.

“So romantic,” She teases, nails dragging down his back in a way that makes his nerves light up and his cock twitch inside her. “You really know how to woo a girl.”

“You saying you don’t like my foreplay?” He teases back, releasing her other leg so she can wrap it around him, right hand sliding down between them to press slow, agonizing circles into her clit. “Hm?”

“Des,” she groans out, eyes sliding closed again as she throws her head back. His circles get quicker, hips moving faster, deeper, hungrier, until she’s crying out his name and he can feel exactly how close she is.

“Come with me,” he repeats. “Selene, come with me. Come with me.  _Come_.”

She cries out his name, body tensing and releasing all at once as she does just that, her muscles wringing his own orgasm out of him violently enough that he’s glad the sound of the waterfall would cover their voices in case of any late night passerby’s.

Her chest rises and falls, pupils still blown in the firelight around them as he slowly pulls his cock out of her, helping to support her weight as he kneels down in front of her.

  
“I really do mean it you know,” he hums, pressing kisses to the insides of her thighs. “We could go.”

“ _Where_  would we go, Des?” She argues, dragging a hand down her face, still trying to catch her breath.

“Anywhere. Everywhere. We could run, and just keep running forever.” he grins smugly up at her. “I hear my endurance is pretty impressive.”

Selene laughs, shaking her head fondly as he presses another kiss to the opposite thigh.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

Selene hums her agreement, and Des feels his heart flip in his chest as her fingers bury themselves back in his hair.

 

“I’m a mess you know.”

One of his eyebrows raises in smug determination as he moves his mouth back between her legs, tongue slowly dragging over her lips.

“I can help with that.”


	2. Roommate AU (part two)

Selene is half-asleep and fumbling with the coffee maker when Des wakes, coming up from behind to wrap his arms around her waist.

“This is very complicated.”

“Have you even  _had_  coffee before?” he mumbles into her cheek.

“Haleir used to bring me some back from his trips,” She admits, feeling her stomach twist just at the mention of his name. “But maybe I should’ve given him more credit for doing so.”

Des scoffs. “I guarantee he never brewed it himself. Here, let me help you…”

Selene watches as Des rifles through the kitchen cabinets, easily navigating past tools and devices she couldn’t even guess at the purpose of right now, until he flips the switch at the base of the coffee machine and it begins to whir and steam quietly.

 

“See? Easy.” He grins, pulling her back against him.

Selene gives him a half-hearted smile in return. “Thanks. I’ll…get the hang of things. Eventually.”

“There’s no rush. You only arrived last night, it’s not as though I expect you to get it  _immediately_. That’s what I’m here for,” he promises, fingers gliding over the small of her back reassuringly.

Selene nods, leans her forehead against his, and lets out a long breath while the room fills with the smell of the hazelnut coffee.

 

It’s barely been 8 hours since she showed up at his door. Out of breath and still wearing the ceremonial robes for the bonding ceremony, hair braided back and strewn with flowers, face covered in paints. The blood of her intended still caked onto her toes.

 

There had been a moment of silence when it happened.

 

No gunshot rang through the air. One moment she was walking down the path towards him, and then suddenly she wasn’t. There was just a hole in the center of his head and the life drained out of his eyes until his body crumpled to the floor. The blood pooled at her feet while she stared down at his corpse beside her.

She had to resist the urge to laugh with the relief of it.

A gift from the gods, she had thought.

 

It was terrible, of course. A terrible, tragic attack on their clan. The hunters had dispersed immediately in search of whomever had shot Haleir. To take their vengeance, to punish the person who had interrupted their ceremony, to whoever had thought to ruin what was supposed to be a day of celebration.

But Selene hadn’t felt a loss when it happened. Had only felt the burden of her fathers final wish fall from her shoulders, could only see her freedom and possibilities stretched out before her.

She had dropped the bundle of flowers in her hand, and run to the city as quickly as she could, the note Des had left her with his address still tucked safely away in her pocket.

To her credit, she had only gotten lost twice on the way here.

 

 

A door clicks open behind her, snapping her out of her memories as she turns her head to greet Des’s roommate and employer.

“Good morning,” She greets, bowing her head respectfully. “Thank you so much for letting me stay here last night.”

The man blinks slowly, the look of someone who would rather still be asleep falling away from his face as he seems to take a moment to recall who she is and let her words wash over him.

“It was no problem,” he assures her. “Is…that my shirt?”

 

“Ah, yeah,” Des admits. “Her clothes still had blood and gunk on them, so I borrowed one from you. I’ll take her shopping for some new things today so it won’t happen again.”

“…It is no problem,” Dirthamen repeats, clearing his throat slightly. “We do, however, have work to do today.”

“Booooo,” Des pouts, propping his head up on Selenes shoulder to look at Dirthamen directly. “You have work  _every_ day. Miss one; the world won’t end.”

“While that is true, there are meetings today that other people would be inconvenienced to reschedule.”

“So inconvenience them!  _You’re_  the big, powerful, important guy. Put yourself first for once; blow them off and go shopping instead.”

Dirthamen tilts his head “That sounds less like putting myself first, and more like putting  _you_  first.”

“Ah, but Selene needs an  _entirely_  new wardrobe. Shirts, pants, dresses.  _Frilly Underthings_ ,” Des says in a tone that she knows means his eyebrows are wiggling. “I  _know_  you like frilly underthings.”

 

That, at least, seems to give Dirthamen pause.

 

“Se _leeene_ ,” Des drawls. “Would you mind trying on frilly underthings and expensive dresses for our patron today to say thank you for letting you stay here?”

“If that’s…what he wants,” She agrees tentatively. “Wouldn’t it be better if  _you_  tried them on though?”

Des grins the grin he uses when he knows something he doesn’t want to share. “I wouldn’t worry about it so much.”

 

The two of them glance over to where Dirthamen is still standing, deliberating with himself.

“Well…” He finally decides. “It seems I have been outvoted.”

–

 

 

“This seems like a lot,” Selene muses, looking at the bags of clothes lining each of her arms. “Are you sure this is ok?”

“He can afford it,” Des assures her with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Carrying all of it through the mall may be another issue,” Dirthamen notes, his own arms equally laden with garments. “I feel as though you should also be carrying these things,”

“I have to keep my hands free,” Des argues. “I’m your body guard; I can’t be bogged down by bras if your brother pops out of a dark alley or something.”

“Your brother pops out of dark alleys?” Selene asks.

“Not usually. He’s much more likely to simply let himself into my apartment, or office.”

“Which is why I have to spend my days watchful, and very, very close to Dirthamen,” Des gloats. “It’s an awful burden of course, spending all day and night with a gorgeous elf like him, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”

“And the salary,” Dirthamen adds.

“Well, I  _do_  still need to make a living.”

 

Selene ponders over their conversation, flexing her toes carefully inside her new sandals.

_She_  should probably get a job, right?

That’s what people do in cities?

And find somewhere to live, too. Dirthamen is being kind for now, but she’ll need to have a plan for when his kindness runs out. She can’t just run out into the night every time she needs to uproot things.

Well…

Technically, she supposes, she  _could_.

But she doesn’t think she’d like to leave Des behind without a way to find her.

 

“I should get a job,” She muses aloud, causing Des and Dirthamen to stop both their conversation and stride.

“What are you qualified for?” Dirthamen asks.

“Well, I was a healer back in the clan. Never got my vallaslin though…”

“You never got your vallaslin because your father was an ass who would never admit you were better than he was,” Des scoffs. “Do you _want_  to be a healer?”

“I don’t know,” She admits. “I never really considered doing anything else. What are my other options?”

“You could do what I do,” Des offers with a grin. “We could double team Dirthamen all day long. And nights too, of course.”

Selene watches as Dirthamen’s face turns a pale pink and he draws one hand up to cover his mouth, nearly stumbling over his own steps.

 

“I don’t think I’d be very good at fighting,” She admits. “Do you have any health concerns I could help with?”

“Not at the moment,” Dirthamen manages.

“There’s no rush to get a job anyways,” Des assures her. “You can stay with us as long as you need. Dirthamen’s a  _great_  sugar daddy.”

“I am your  _employer_ ,” he asserts. “There is nothing untoward about our relationship. Please do not tell her that I am paying you for sexual favors.”

“Worried what she might think if you  _were_?” Des teases. “Don’t worry, Selene already knows what I’m like in bed. No money required.”

Dirthamen seems to stumble over his own tongue for a few moments, while Selene drifts off, still trying to decide on a possible way to spend her upcoming days.

At the very least, it’s comforting to know that they’re willing to share their home with her.

–

 

Selene sets out the next morning, wearing one of her new sun-dresses and a pair of lace-up leather sandals, to explore the city.

 

Des had handed her a cellular telephone, in case she might get lost or simply wish to speak to him. It is very nice, and she keeps it safe and sound inside of a small purse they had convinced her to get the day before. Eventually it will also hold her identification and other things people are apparently required to carry with them once Dirthamen has completed some sort of paperwork, but for now it’s just holding her phone, a smaller pouch of money in case she gets hungry or would like to buy something, and a small tube of a sweet smelling substance that goes on her lips.

 

Before long, her stomach is growling and with the smell of fresh bread in the air, her feet pull her through a nearby door. A bell jingles softly overhead, drawing the attention of the woman behind the counter.

“Welcome,” She calls out, magazine still open on the counter before her.

“I was hoping for bread…?” Selene tries, walking towards the counter and opening up her coin purse. “How much of this do I give you?”

“Well, that depends on which type of bread you would like,” The woman replies, walking over to a glass display case. “We’ve got loaves of white, herb and cheese, sourdough, rye, marble rye, baguettes, bagels, donuts, all sorts of different pastries…”

She trails off as Selene bends down to look closely at the offered items. They all look appetizing, and her stomach is growling again and the woman, at least, is being very patient while she tries to make up her mind.

“That one,” Selene finally settles on, pointing to a small sweet looking item with some sort of filling and a strawberry on top.

“A wonderful choice,” The woman smiles, carefully sliding the pastry out of the display and onto a paper plate. Selene reaches for her coin purse again, and the woman shakes her head. “My treat.”

 

Selene thanks her, and sits down at one of the small tables in the back corner. The pastry is sweet but light, flakes falling onto her robes with each bite. After a minute, a large grey man with horns steps through a small door, whisking the elven woman that had helped her up into his arms.

“Anyu!” He declares joyfully “I discovered the secret to the filled pretzels! Add it to the menu! We’ll have people here in  _droves_!”

“Just as soon as I test one,” She assures him. “We have a customer, dear.”

 

The man turns, horns knocking a few brown packages off of the tops of the cabinets with the movements and Selene wonders for a moment how someone of his stature even fits in a room with ceilings this low.

“Oh, you’re eating the strawberry Canelé! Those are Anyu’s favorites too, did she talk you into it?” he laughs, striding through the small shop and swinging an extra chair around to her table, sitting down comfortably across from her. “She’s always selling them as fast as she can this time of day so that I’ll make a new batch that’ll still be warm for her to bring home with us. You’d think she would just  _ask,_  but old habits die hard I guess. That’s alright though, I love her anyways. She’s wonderful you know.”

 

Selene nods in agreement, mouth full of the pastry in question and just a little out of sorts at the sudden intrusion.

 

“So what brings you to our neighbor hood? Shouldn’t you be farther uptown, dressed like that?” He continues, gesturing to her outfit. “What brings you to our little corner of the slums?”

She swallows her mouthful quickly, managing a polite “I’m looking for a job, actually.”

“D'you bake?” The man ( _Kaze_ , he introduces himself as) asks eagerly. “I could really use a prep chef.”

 

Selene thinks back to her own attempts at making breads and sweets back with the clan; over-risen dough from her body temperature, burnt rations,  dried fruits that hadn’t sunk to the bottom of her creations so much as tried to burrow an escape tunnel to freedom.

“No. No, I do not,” she decides. “Sorry.”

Kaze frowns, briefly, before perking back up. “That’s alright, no harm done. What sort of job are you looking for then?”

“Mm…an apothecary, maybe? I was a healer, back when I was with my clan.”

“Oh, you’re Dalish?” Asks the other elven woman.

Selene hums in affirmation.

“Incredible,” She muses. “We didn’t have many of those in Val Royeaux. Somehow I thought it would be even less likely to run into one here.”

“Not many Tal Vashoth in Val Royeaux either,” her husband points out “But there’s the clinic nearby, right?”

“Ah, yes!” Anyu declares. “The free clinic is always looking for more help. The poor dears are always overworked. You could check there, certainly.”

 

Selene nods in agreement as she finishes her food, and Anyu helpfully supplies her with written directions to the local clinic.

Selene thanks them for their help and happily strolls through the streets with the paper until she comes upon a rather run-down looking installment in the line of buildings bordering the street. The address matches the ones she was given, and when she steps inside she’s greeted with the familiar scents of healing salves and disinfectants.

 

“Excuse me,” She says to the dwarven man seated at the front desk. “I’m looking for a job?”

“Are you certified?” He asks in a bored tone. “We don’t pay certification rates here.”

“Oh, uh…”Selene blinks. “I don’t think so? I used to be a healer back with my clan. I was told you were looking for people to help out…”

“Wait one moment please,” he sighs, picking up a large, bulky looking phone and having a quiet conversation before hanging it back up. “Room four.”

 

Selene blinks again, confused by how quickly this seems to have gone, but nods and heads dutifully down the hallway until she spots the corresponding number.

Inside is a worn out looking horned woman sitting in a chair and drinking coffee that looks as though it still has grounds floating in it.

 

“You must be the new girl,” She smiles. “Could you cover my shift for an hour or two while I nap in the back? I’ve been up for nearly 40 hours straight, and I don’t want to endanger the patients.”

“Of course!” Selene says. “Is there anything I should know about?”

“Well, we’re a free clinic, so we don’t charge for services, but we  _do_ keep a log so make sure to get the patients name and date of birth for filing purposes. Most of the supplies are in the cabinets on the walls around you, aspirin and sedatives are behind lock on the mirror. If you need to write a prescription, send them up front; Vegor handles all of that, he’s got the license and lawyers for it. Past that, if you have any issues, knock on door two, Saarah should be available if you need an extra pair of hands. Let’s see, anything I’m missing….” She muses. “Oh! I never got your name, dearie.”

“I’m Selene,” She says, holding out her hand.

“Taasha,” She introduces back, shaking the offered hand. “Thanks again for your help. There’s some coffee and water in the break room if you need it.”

 

Selene nods in understanding, and Taasha takes her leave for some well deserved rest.

Selene haphazardly rifles through the cabinets, trying to figure out where precisely everything is, and reading labels on medications and tools with words she’s never even heard of.

It’s not quite the same as she’s used to, she realizes too late as she hears Vegor calling out “ _Room Four!”_  and the doorknob next to her turns.

  
“Hello there!” She greets quickly, standing from where she had been knelt down “What brings you in today?”

The elven mans eyes rove over her; a bright blue beneath golden locks as he lays back in the patients bed and holds up a heavily tattooed arm laden with still-smoking burns.

“I got attacked by an  _asshole_ , and my arm still feels like its on fire. You got any painkillers?”

She offers him two aspirin and fiddles with the lock on the mirror before handing them to him along with a paper cup of water (which he takes with a look of disgust and “ _are you fucking kidding me with this_ ”) and takes a closer look at his arm. Poking and prodding, and gently testing for responsiveness. When he recoils at a light push, she lets out a breath of relief; no major nerve damage, then.

“It’s your lucky day,” she hums, touch drifting down to lift his hand, which is heavy with thick rings and old scars “Burns are practically my specialty.”

“It would’ve been my lucky day if I hadn’t been set on fucking  _fire_.” he shoots back.  
Selene laughs, taking it as a joke. “Well, yeah, I guess that’s true.”

 

She looks over his burns carefully, pouring a slow healing spell into a familiar salve as she rubs it into his skin, and watching as the redness begins to decrease. The pattern on his arms begins to make sense again; there are wings going down each one, and she’s careful to make sure not to disrupt the artwork as she goes.

“ _Shit_ ,” The guy croons as he watches. “Usually they just toss me a bottle of lotion and kick me out.”

“It’s no trouble,” she hums. “Wouldn’t want you walking around with broken wings, right?”

“I dunno, it’s kind of metal,” He muses.

Selene blinks.

“Your tattoos are made of metal…?”

His eyes narrow. “Is that a joke?”

“If it is, I think it’s on me.”

He sticks his nose up in the air, regarding her once again. “Of course. I’m particularly gifted with observation and people, after all. I’m sure you could tell.”

Selene nods in agreement, but thinks that if he were  _really_  so talented with people, its unlikely someone might’ve purposely set him on fire. Still, he’s her patient, and it’s good to keep things pleasant and civil in this sort of environment.  
“All done,” She announces as the final threads of ink rejoin along his forearm.

“Thanks,” He mumbles, rubbing and poking at his arm, as though making sure it isn’t some sort of trick. “You got a name? Think I’ll request you next time I come by too. You do good work.”

“I’m Selene,” She smiles, making a note of the procedure and materials used on the nearby notepad. “Oh! I’ll need yours too, come to think of it.”

He grins down, hand accidentally landing on top of hers. 

“It’s Falon'din.”


	3. Roommate AU (part three)

Falon'din shows up to the clinic three more times that week.

 

“What time are you out of this shithole?” He asks her on the third time.

“When my shift is up,” She tells him again. “I can’t leave until someone else can take over.”

“It’s nearly fuckin’ midnight.”

“Well, it’s an always-open clinic,” Selene shrugs, wrapping a bandage over the scrape he’d gotten from ‘laying down’ his motorcycle. “Which means someone’s always working.”

“Must be glad you live alone then.”

“I don’t live alone,” She says, glancing up at him. “I have roommates.”

He makes a distasteful face at her admission, but presses on. “You fuckin’ them?”

“Have you thought about seeing a licensed doctor?” She evades. “With how often you seem to be injuring yourself, you should look into someone with access to better equipment. You could have internal injuries I wouldn’t know how to look for.”  
He scoffs, leaning back on his palms on the exam table. “I’m plenty healthy.”

 

“You’ve been to the clinic multiple times in a single week,” She feels obliged to point out. “Healthy people don’t do that.”

“Go out with me then,” He says, acting bored even as his eyes bore into her. “If you’re so fuckin’ worried about it. You can inspect me without all the paperwork or whatever.”

Selene raises an eyebrow at him and shakes her head. “While that is quite the offer, I think I’ll pass.”

“I can promise I’m better than whatever fuckface you’re banging now.”

“My betrothed passed away recently, actually,” She says, reminding herself that it is  _technically_  true even if she’s not mourning the loss. “So I’m not interested in dating.”

He tsks.

“Who said anything about dating?”

Selene resists the urge to say something obviously rude and instead smiles and says “You remind me of him a bit, sometimes,” and assures him that she has other patients to see, before ushering him out of the room.

 

It’s a long shift, but the next few hours pass with patients less inclined to take up her time for no real reason.

 

Both of her roommates are still awake when she finally makes it home, somehow.

Which is surprising, given how quickly Dirthamen tends to go hide in his bedroom most nights.

 

“Hello,” She greets, dropping her keys on the small wooden table next to the doorway. “What are you two still doing up?”

“Waiting for you,” Des says, sound slightly annoyed. “We were worried; its late and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Sorry, Vegor said we should keep our phones off or on vibrate in the clinic so we don’t startle the patients.”

“Hmm…” Des drawls, annoyances seemingly forgotten as he pulls her into his lap on the couch. “I suppose I can forgive you then. Dirthamen here was so  _lonely_  without you, though…”

Selene blinks, glancing over to the shirtless man. 

Who is only wearing sleep pants, it seems.

…It’s a very good look on him.

 

“I’m sorry. Was it my night to cook?”

“No,” He assures her, fingers fiddling with the string on his pants “I was only worried that you might be in danger. Des is making things seem more dramatic than they are.”

“He does that a lot,” Selene nods, letting out a slight yelp as his fingers slip under the hem of her shirt to briefly tickle her sides.

“No, no; you two are  _not_  ganging up on me,” Des grins. “That’s not the plan for tonight.”

“There’s a plan for tonight?” Selene asks, head tilting slightly.

“There does not have to be,” Dirthamen says quickly. “Des had…made a suggestion that he thought you would enjoy. And that I might as well. But it is not necessary if you are uncomfortable or unsure in any way.”

She blinks, looking back to Des for answers.

 

“So, Dirthamen and I have had a few shared evenings of our own. Talking, and sharing and braiding each others hair-”

“I have never braided your hair,” Dirthamen frowns.

“It’s an  _expression,_  darling,” Des explains, patting the other mans thigh reassuringly. “Anyways, he thinks you’re hot, and knows that I’m hot, and he’s heard the moans I get out of you through the walls at night, and he’s interested in adding the visual aspect to his spank bank.”

 

Selene can feel her face heating up as Des continues speaking and the tips of her fingers begin to smoke.

“I…” she starts, hand moving up to her mouth nervously. “That is…”

“If you are uncomfortable, it is alright to say no,” Dirthamen says again. “I will not be offended, and it will not in any way affect whether or not you can stay here. I would hope we could still be friends without things being…uncomfortable for you in any way, of course.”

 

“You’re putting your foot in your mouth,” Des sighs, pulling Selenes fingers away from her mouth and pointing out the smoke pouring out of them. “This is a good sign; it means she thinks  _you’re_  hot too. You just have to give her a minute for her mind to catch up to her libido; she doesn’t exercise it enough, so it tends to run away without her sometimes.”

 

Selene pulls her hand carefully out of Des’s. “That’s…not even  _true_.”

“Which part?” Des says as he raises his eyebrows, daring her to find something incorrect about his statement.

“…His foot’s not in his mouth,” She decides. “He’s just being kind. Because he’s sweet, and not everyone is a lewd sex demon like you.”

“I will have you know, I’ve had my shots and am 100% certifiably demonic possession  _free_  thank you very much.”

“They have shots for that?”

“No,” Dirthamen assures her. “But he was checked over for demonic possession as part of the preliminary exam for his current job.”

“It tickled in a very un-fun sort of way,” Des sighs, pulling Selene closer to him. “But we’re still waiting for your answer.”

 

She tosses the concept around in her mind for a moment; she  _is_  very attracted to Dirthamen, and it’s not as though she isn’t already sleeping with Des. They’re both very comfortable to be around, and the concept of getting to be with or see Dirthamen fully naked is….arousing.

“What sort of thing were you thinking of?” She finally asks. “I’ll probably need a shower first, no matter what.”

“Well, I was thinking I’d ravish you until your legs gave out and your mind was blurry,” Des answers. “And Dirthamen just likes to watch.”

“Oh,” She pouts.

“Is something wrong?” Dirthamen checks.

“No. Only…”she hums, finger booping his nose lightly. “You may like to watch, but I like to  _touch_.”

 

His own face begins to turn a familiar shade of red. “I did not think you would like for me to…join in, as it were.”

“I just don’t think I’d put on a very good show,” She admits, finger trailing carefully down his jawline. “If you’d rather watch from the sidelines, I won’t say  _no_. But if you wanted to be a part of the festivities…well, I certainly wouldn’t say no to that either.”

 

She watches as the lump in his neck bobs up and down while he swallows, and finally moves out of Des’s lap.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she announces. “You think about what you’d like to do, and we’ll take it from there.”

 

Dirthamen nods silently while Des follows her through their bedroom towards the attached bath.

“Can I pick out your outfit?” He asks.

“You don’t think I should just come out naked?”

“I think you might scare him away if you do,” He muses. “You have the things we picked out at the mall still, right? He liked the white one a lot; with the strings? I think he’d like following them.”

“With his fingers or his mouth?” She jokes, but Des seems to consider the matter seriously.

“I’d skip the lotion,” he advises. “Just in case.”

 

Selene considers the matter throughout the shower, even as she feels her workday wash off of her, down the drain and far, far away.

 

When she steps out into the steam-filled bathroom again, the lingerie Des had mentioned is sitting on the counter, next to the sink. She stares at the thin material as she blow dries her hair-careful not to burn herself this time- and finishes drying herself off. It takes a few minutes of fiddling with the strings to get them into any sort of proper knot, and while the point is probably  _not_  to make them difficult to undo, its necessary for them to give her any sort of actual support. The underwear is riding high up on her hip,elongating her thighs and legs in a way she’ll admit is flattering (even if her ass is  _barely_ covered). She takes a deep breath, staring at her reflection before stepping back out into the bedroom, trying her best to exude confidence.

 

Dirthamen and Des are both entirely naked on her bed.

Their long black hair draped over the assortment of pillows, while Des is stroking himself slowly and Dirthamen seems distracted by the freckles spattered over the elven mans chest.

Selene can’t really blame him; she’s certainly spent plenty of time inspecting them herself.

 

She can feel her fake confidence falling away as she moves towards them, bending one knee onto the edge of the mattress, a warm feeling rising in the base of her stomach. Not  _nerves_ , not really. Something more comfortable than that, something that makes her feel like she is supposed to be doing this with them, of course she is, of course this is something that they should all be doing together. She settles onto Dirthamens left side, leaving him safely cocooned between the two while she trails her fingers slowly up his arm.

“Good choice,” She mumbles, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“News, before we start,” Des chimes in. “Dirthamen’s never had penetrative sex before; though he says he’s open to it.”

Selene nods in understanding, smiling down at Dirthamen as he looks up at her; pupils dilated, heart-rate increased, and just a little bit overwhelmed, she thinks.

“Don’t worry,” she assures him. “We’ll be gentle.”

–

 

The sun is pouring in through the break in their curtains when Selenes cell phone begins to buzz.

 

“Are we adding in toys already?” Des mumbles, the arm that had been draped over the other two all evening tightening slightly. “I thought it’d take a little longer than that, but alright.”

“It’s my phone,” Selene groans, wriggling free as she reaches for the bag hanging off of one of the dresser knobs. Flinching slightly at the brightness of the screen, she lets out a sigh. “This patient is killing me…I’ve gotta go into work.”

 

Des lets out a whine, and Dirthamen begins to stir from his own space in the bed. “Was there an emergency?”

“No,” Selene explains, hastily assembling an outfit for the day. “This guy just refuses to get seen by anyone else anymore, and it’s driving Taasha and Saasha up the wall. They’ve got way more experience, he really  _should_  be seeing them instead.”

“So let him bitch about it; I thought it was your day off.”

“Technically,” She says, pulling her jeans on. “But I’m also the newest so it’s not like I have any kind of rank to pull; if they say I need to go in, then I need to go in.”

“Yeah well, your patient sounds like an entitled asshat,” Des grumbles while Dirthamen rubs the sleep and fatigue from the nights activities out of his eyes.

“Yeah well, you name your kid after a god, you’ve got to expect a certain level of ego I imagine.” She pauses. “No offense of course, Dirthamen.”

 

But he and Des both seem to be exchanging some sort of knowing look between them.

“… _Which_  god?” Des asks slowly.

“Falon'din,” Selene answers, tying her hair up into its pony tail.

“You should not go.” Dirthamen asserts strongly enough that it gives her pause.

“D'you know him?”  
“He is my brother.”

“The one that tried to kill him,” Des adds.

 

Oh.

 

“I don’t think I can text back with 'sorry I heard he’s a murderous psychopath, so good luck!'”

“You should quit,” Des says.

Selene sighs and gives him a flat look.

“He is correct,” Dirthamen adds. “…How often have you encountered him?”

“Four times now I think?” Selene muses “The first day I worked there, and three times so far this week, not counting now…”

“You should almost certainly leave your job,” Dirthamen decides. “I will look into finding them a suitable replacement if necessary.”

“You can’t be serious,” Selene laughs. “He’s just an  _elf_. He’s never tried to hurt me, he just tried to get me to…see him outside of work.”

“And you turned him down?” Dirthamen checks.

“Of course I did, I don’t date patients and he gave me…” She hesitates. “He gave me creepy, ex style vibes…”

“Yeah, you’re not going.” Des declares, standing out of bed and going for her phone. “And I’m gonna light his hair on fire next time I so much as  _see_  him for thinking that you-”

“He doesn’t even know I know you,” Selene points out. “He’s just my patient. I’ll come right back home as soon as I’m done with his scrapes or headache or hangnail, or whatever he’s come up with for the day. I’ll even turn my ringer on so you can reach me. Ok?”

 

The two men still look hesitant, concerned about her leaving the house knowing who’s at work, but she grabs her bag and walks out before they can make any further arguments.

For goodness sake.

He’s just an  _elf._

–

 

For all that she can tell, the pressing medical emergency she had to come in to help in with is just a hangover.

Which she’d normally be able to weather with a smile probably, but it’s still very early and she’s still very tired and she had been very comfortable in bed and is eager to get back to it, now.

“I thought you weren’t seeing anyone,” He gripes while she hands him a glass of water and two aspirin. “So who gave you the giant fucking hickey?”

 

Selene blinks, one hand moving to cover up the side of her neck.

“I…burnt myself. With the blow dryer,” she lies.

His eyes narrow, and for a moment she thinks maybe Des and Dirthamen were  _right,_ before he dry swallows the pills and leaves with a casual “Thanks, doc.”

 

She waits inside the clinic for another ten minutes before heading out, hoping she’s put enough distance between them that he’s gone off to do…whatever it is he does during the day.

After only one block though, she spots him in the reflection of a store window; a few people behind her, long blonde hair giving away any hope he might’ve had at 'stealth’ with the addition of his sunglasses.

 

She takes out her phone and messages Des.

  * _Don’t panic, but I think he’s following me home._



 

  * _Where r u???_



 

  * _Still walking, still close to the clinic._



 

  * _Dirthamen says not to come straight back to the apartment_
  * _Some weird possessive thing???_
  * _We’ll meet u somewhere_
  * _Where r u???_



 

When Selene looks back up, Falon'din is only one person behind her, and she quickly turns off the screen of her phone.

There’s a familiar bakery on her right, and she turns into it, hoping to knock him off her trail.

The same woman is behind the counter, smiling at Selene when she comes in.

“Hey, welcome back-”

The bell rings behind her, and Selenes eyes widen slightly in panic.

The woman, at least, seems to take note of the change in her disposition.

 

“I’d’ve bought you breakfast or whatever you know,” Falon'din says, moving forward and looping an arm over her shoulders, nails digging into her shirt. “All you had to do was  _ask._ ”

“I…”Selene tries, but her mouth has gone dry. The movement is too familiar, its too much like what  _he_  would do, and it makes her mind try to escape her body entirely.

“Two doughnuts or whatever, lady,” Falon'din calls, tossing a few bills onto the counter before leading Selene back to one of the tables in the empty bakery. “No rush.”

 

When he kicks out a chair for her, she freezes entirely. Legs stuck still, wondering if she should try to make a run for it; where she would run  _to._ But she knows she definitely, absolutely, should  _not_  sit down with him.

And then her phone rings.

 

The screen lights up and he moves behind her, staring over her shoulder before yanking it out of her hands.

“Des…?” He says, face scrunching together for a few minutes, before realization seems to dawn on him.

Awful timing, really.

 

“You’re sleeping with  _that_ fucker?!” He screams, throwing her phone at the wall. It shatters, leaving a dent in the wall. “That smug son of a bitch that’s trying to steal my own fucking  _brother_? Or are you fucking my brothers cock too?! Is that it?! You all just sit around and have a fucking circle jerk while you laugh at me and twist my brother into hating me?! You traitorous fucking  _ **skank**_ _!_ ”

On the last word, he shoves her backwards and into the back wall of the bakery.

 

She moves to open her mouth, but finds herself unable to speak. Her mind is only half here, already numbing out to what her body expects is coming, and it’s not as though  _all_  of his accusations are wrong.

She had slept with his brother only the night before, after all. Maybe she deserves it. Maybe she deserved it the whole time.

Maybe that’s why this keeps happening.

 

His words blur together, just a loud, high pitched drone in her ears while his fist makes contact with her face, his boot with her stomach when she lands on the ground. Her body reflexively tries to curl in on itself while he keeps attacking her and screaming; slurs, obscenities, accusations.

A large, horned grey blob finally knocks him off of her.

It takes a moment for the blob to finally register as Kaze, the sweet, mild mannered baker.

 

Falon'din screams again, black ice appearing and shattering on the walls and ground around him.

Kaze loses his footing, slipping and falling onto another table that snaps in half under his weight.

Falon'din turns back to Selene, who’s only just realized she’s managed to stand again, and lets out another loud, wrathful scream. Shards of ice form around the room, shooting towards her suddenly as her arms move up to try and protect her face from further damage.

The temperature in the room drops.

 

Falon'din screams again.

A different scream this time.

One of pain, and agony.

 

Selenes arms fall to her side as she looks up at him; both hands are pinned up beside his head, orlesian throwing knives pierced straight through the palms to keep him from using them.

 

She lets out a small breath of relief as Anyu tells them both she’s already called the authorities, and an ambulance.

_Good,_  Selene thinks bitterly.  _See if I ever give that asshole healing again._

 

She runs a hand through her hair in relief while she thanks Anyu, helping Kaze back to his feet. The Tal Vashoth stares back at her in concern, one finger pointing at her stomach.

“Blood…”The man mutters, a fist coming up to cover his mouth before he runs off towards the bathrooms in the back.

 

Blood…?

Selene blinks, looking down at her hand.

Her hand that is indeed, stained with still wet blood.

 

She glances further down, and notes that she seems to have been impaled on her left side with a spike of ice, about the size of a rolling pin.

And that she is bleeding from it.

Heavily.

 

Anyu quickly pushes a chair under her, as the shock begins to wear off and Selene stares numbly at her hand, pain blooming in her stomach.

 

“The ambulance is on its way,” The older woman assures her. “Just hold on, alright? You’re going to be fine, just…just hold on. Is there anyone I can call? Who can I notify…”

 

Selene doesn’t hear the rest of it.  
She thinks she can hear a dim noise in the back of her mind, like sirens.

But she doesn’t remember the rest, as her mind and body both finally give out.


	4. Alternate Modern AU

Sulvuna is three when she first finds out about the orphanage.

It is small, and overcrowded, but it is not well secured and they have a  _playground_. With a slide, and real swings and she is small enough that she can sneak off from her papaes side when he is preoccupied with his work. 

Sometimes she can even sneak plants out in the pockets of her dress, and trade them with the other kids for their extra snacks. She is not quite sure what the other childrens fascination with pretty weeds is, but it means she gets to eat something between waking up and making dinner. Which means Papae isn’t grumbling about her stomach making noises and getting him angry.

 

When she arrives at the playground early one winter morning, bare toes tingling against the cold stone in the street, she finds it empty.

Curious.

It’s not snowing yet, and she knows they all have coats because she’s  _seen_  them (and tried to barter for them, to no avail), so the lack of kids on the playground is ominous. She wonders if she should turn back, and maybe try again later, when a car pulls up to the front of the orphanage. It is sleek, and black, and someone comes out from one side of it just to open the door on the _other_  side to let out another man.

Another elf.

He is nearly as tall as her Mamae, with long hair kept in a neat fashion, and a longer coat that appears to be thicker than the blanket she keeps at home.

He glances her way, and she panics, running back to hide behind another building.

If he saw her, he doesn’t follow. Instead, he strides into the front doors of the orphanage, voice booming loudly enough she can hear echoes from her hiding place. The other people with him are carrying in large, colorful boxes and bags. Platters of food that are somehow still  _warm_  despite the chill of their town, and a huge round container filled with vibrant pieces of candy.

 

She should really go back home if there’s no one to play with, she thinks.

But…a few minutes couldn’t hurt.

Just to find out what’s going on.

 

She clambers up the loose stones in the back, fingers clinging to the edge of the dirty window as she peeks inside. The strange man is sitting with her friends, handing each of them one of the boxes or bags. The candy is laid out in the middle of the room, and they all seem very excited to see him.

She feels her stomach growl against the cold rock, and feels her first bout of envy. She watches as they all laugh, and sing, and he even reads some of them  _stories_.

Sulvuna does not think her parents have ever told her a story.

 

It is very cold out though, and even as she pretends to be sitting at the banquet, warm and full and smiling, her fingers are beginning to turn blue.

Papae will be very angry if she can’t harvest the lavender once it’s finished drying.

 

She hops down from the windowsill, resolving to go back home. Maybe if she is very, very good, Papae or Mamae will read her a story before bed.

…She supposes she will have to  _find_  a story for them to read her, though. Or do parents just know them intrinsically, and she hasn’t earned one yet, maybe?

 

Still daydreaming about whether her Mamae might know any stories about birds, Sulvuna forgets to look in front of her and stumbles right into several empty trash cans. They crash against eachother and make a very loud noise on the hard asphalt of the street.

_Oh no_ , she panics. 

The door to the orphanage is opening and someone is going to come and they are going to find her and she is  _never_  going to be allowed back here again-!

 

She is on the verge of tears at the thought of it when the man with the food and the presents puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Why are you crying?” he asks. His voice is much quieter now than it was when he was inside she thinks.

She sniffs, and tries to answer, but it mostly just pulls at the tears straining to come out and instead she settles for a firm shake of her head.

“Ok, you are not crying. You are a very strong child, aren’t you?”

 

Sulvuna sniffs again. She has never been called strong before; she struggles to get the jars off the counter and carry them to her papaes work station. Always too slow because they are too heavy. She is not very strong at all, really.

 

“Would you like to come inside with the others?” He asks, holding his large hand out for her.

She shakes her head again. “I’ll get in trouble.”

“With who?” He frowns. “Surely they wouldn’t force someone so young and small to stay out in the cold! Come, come. We shall figure out how you got lost in the first place, and-”

“M'not lost,” Sulvuna mumbles. “I just….I like playing here. There’s a playground, and the kids have food.”

 

The man nods, slowly. He seems less happy now, less joyous than he did when he was inside.   
That’s probably her fault, she berates herself.

 

“Do you not have food at home?”

“We have dinner,” Sulvuna explains, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands. “Sometimes I get a whole pee-bee sandwich to myself if I do a good job.”

He nods again, huge hand enveloping hers.

“Will you show me where you live?”

 

Sulvunas eyes go wide in fear.

“You are not in trouble,” he assures her, standing to his full height. The clouds in the sky are dark, and heavy and threatening to snow behind the bright strands of his hair. 

It is not as though she wasn’t planning on going back home  _anyways_ …

 

“Okay…” She agrees quietly, showing him the long way back to her home. She doesn’t think he’d fit through the holes in the fence near her part of the alienage, or through some of the narrower alleyways she uses as shortcuts.

 

It takes nearly forty minutes to make the walk. He tells her about his home, and his wife, and she learns that he actually  _owns_  the orphanage and the playground on it. She tells him he should get one of the spinning pieces she’s heard the other kids talk about, and he promises to look into it.

She asks him about the stories.

 

“Do you know them all by heart?”

“No!” he laughs. “Many are kept in books! Though I would be happy to tell you stories of my own sometime, if you would like. Do you enjoy stories?”

“I don’t know,” She admits. “The ones you told today were the first ones I heard.”

 

The snow is beginning to fall by the time they reach her home. Her Mamaes face goes pale when she sees them at the door, Sulvuna waving with the hand not being held by the very nice man who walked her home.

“Elrogathe!” She calls over her shoulder. “Elrogathe! There is-There is a man at the door! With Sulvuna!”

 

Sulvuna shrinks as she hears her Papae slam a jar onto his work table, frustrated at his concentration being broken and complaining about her causing trouble all the way to the door. Talking about giving her less food and more chores.

Probably no chance of a story then, she thinks with a sinking feeling as she hides behind the legs of the man who walked her home.

 

“M'sorry…m'sorry…” Sulvuna mumbles, fingers tightening in the thick fabric of his coat. She can feel the tears prickling at the corners of her scrunched up eyes, and tries to keep her body from shaking with the strain of holding them back.

The man looks down at her, his expression darkening as her Papae arrives in the doorway.

 

“What did she do?” Elrogathe asks without preamble.

“Only tried to feed herself, so far as I can tell.”

Elrogathe tsks, reaching out to grab Sulvuna from behind the other man. “Stealing?” He accuses.

 

The taller man snags her Papaes wrist before he can wrench her shoulder. “How dare you accuse her of theft! Perhaps if you fed your child, she would be less likely to find the orphans have fuller bellies than her own!”

“If you are so concerned with our greedy, useless child, perhaps you should take her with you.” Elrogathe shoots back.

The man she is still hiding behind straightens, releasing her Papaes wrist. “Perhaps I will.”

“Good. One less worthless distraction.” Elrogathe declares before slamming the door shut, loudly.

 

Sulvuna stares numbly at the wooden door.

 

“…Papae?” She whispers. She’s upset him before. She knows she’s not a  _perfect_  daughter, that sometimes she reads the labels wrong or forgets to hang the herbs upside down to dry, or asks for things she doesn’t  _really_  need. But she didn’t think….she didn’t think she was so bad that he would not want her anymore.

 

Sulvuna begins to cry then, body shaking with wracking sobs and tears she can’t hold back anymore. The pain in her stomach is nothing,  _nothing_  to this. She has been abandoned, disowned, kicked out. The man whose coat she is sobbing into remembers her at her cries, bending down to lift her into his arms. He sways her back and forth, walking back the way they came and trying to get her to settle down. Her home gets smaller and smaller, and as they turn down a corner it disappears entirely.

Her cries die out, fatigue overtaking her. She had gotten up very early to do her chores before going to the playground, and she still hasn’t managed to eat anything today. He pulls a small phone out of his pocket once she’s quiet and drowsy, and a few minutes later the black car from earlier shows up.

 

“You are going to come home with me,” The man explains once they are inside the car. “My wife and I have wanted children, and you are in need of a home. She warned me not to bring home children from the orphanage, but you are not  _from_  the orphanage, so I do not think she will be angry.”

“…what if she doesn’t want me either?” Sulvuna sniffs, half asleep beside him as he takes off his coat to lay over her.

“You are a very strong child,” He assures her. “She will be pleased with you, and come to love you quickly. I am sure of it.”

–

There is a plane ride filled with phone calls between her home and where she will be living from now on. The people who work on it are very nice, and bring her juice and snacks to eat. She eventually learns the mans name is Elgar'nan, and that he is very excited to bring her into his family. He asks her about her favorite colors and animals and foods, and she apologizes and says that she isn’t really sure. But she knows that she likes sunflowers and strawberries and the way the moon looks at night when the clouds are all sleeping.

That seems enough to make him smile again, at least.

 

She falls asleep again in the car ride from the airport to his house. Which is very large, and has a yard big enough to fit the whole alienage inside. She feels very out of place, with her bare feet and the crumbs on her dress with the faded stripes.

But Elgar'nan assures her it will be fine. That she is his daughter now, which means all of this is hers, too.

 

She does not believe him.

 

His wife greets them inside the mansion, with a kiss on his cheek and a shrewd look at her. And Sulvuna knows she is looking at the crumbs, and her feet, and the dirt on her face . She knows that her hair is tangled in its ponytail and tonight was supposed to be bath night, and that she is the most worthless thing in this whole huge place.

She knows that she is not a good child.

 

“Thank you for having me,” She says with a small bow. Because manners, at least, are free. That’s what Mamae used to say, and if this lady is going to be her new mother, maybe she’ll think so too, and maybe Sulvuna can  _pretend_  to be a good child, at least. At least good enough to not end up on a street somewhere, with no plants to trade and no dinner to fall back on.

The woman’s face eases somewhat, and she places her hand gently on top of Sulvunas head.

“My husband seems very taken with you,” She says with a smile. “I’m sure you will be a wonderful addition to our family.”

“I’ll do my best,” Sulvuna promises.

 

She is sent for a bath, and then after she has been dressed in very comfortable pajamas, the woman asks her more questions. About her parents, and if she has any other family that might look for her.

“Mamae had a twin brother,” Sulvuna admits. “But I’ve never met him.”

 

The woman ( _“Mythal, though you may call me Mother,”_ ) seems pleased with the information, and dismisses her to go off with Elgar'nan once again. He has selected a room for her, and filled it with more toys than she has  _ever_  seen in her life. There is a large bed in one corner with pillows and a variety of blankets, and a closet filled with more clothes for her. Even shoes, arranged by color neatly on the floor.

Sulvuna is not sure what to say.  _Thank you_ , of course, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

 

There is always food here, and Elgar'nan has a playground built in the backyard (which is somehow even bigger than the front yard, to her amazement). After a few days, Mother gives her a new name. To keep anyone from questioning her, to keep her parents from being able to take her back.

She does not think they would, but she also does not want to inform Mythal that simply kicking her out is an option.

So she becomes Selene Evanuris, first daughter of Elgar'nan and Mythal, who read her stories at night and make sure she is meeting her nutritional and emotional requirements.

It is not a quiet life. People with cameras often approach them while they are out, whether they are eating or shopping or if one of her parents is simply having a business trip and did not want to leave her alone. It’s a new idea in itself; her old parents hadn’t cared what she got up to throughout the day, but Elgar'nan and Mythal seem very concerned with what she chooses to do. Elgar'nan takes her to zoos and sporting events, and even to an ice show when it features characters from a show they have started watching together.

 

It is a few years later when Mother gets pregnant.

Selene panics.

 

If they have a  _real_  child, they won’t need her anymore. They might send her back, or kick her out and she will be forgotten. She starts tucking away her allowances inside of a pillow-pet she never unfolds in case they realize that she has become useless to them. So that she might still be able to purchase food, or coats, or shoes.

Elgar'nan finds her stuffing a pair of blue flats with plastic flowers sewn onto them into her backpack one night, and asks her about it.

Selene hesitates; she has never  _lied_  to him before. He has been so kind and so good to her, and she is very thankful. So she tells him; that when his real daughter comes, he won’t want her anymore. That he’ll kick her out just like her last parents did, and he will stop telling her stories and mother will stop hanging her pictures on the fridge, and that they will stop loving her because why would they bother once they have a  _good_  child they could love instead?

 

“That is a ridiculous notion!” He roars. Not in anger, but in laughter, and somehow that makes her feel  _smaller_. It is a very real fear, and it’s not as though it’s impossible because it  _has_  actually happened before. A ridiculous notion would be mother giving birth to a griffin, not that Selene might be abandoned for a second time in her nearly six years of life.

 

Elgar'nan laughs again though, and walks her down the hallway into the room he shares with her mother, and explains the situation. Her mothers eyes soften at the story as she pats the space in the middle of their bed. Selene crawls into the offered spot, backpack still clutched to her chest and filled with her blue flats and green shirt and favorite stuffed bird.

“You may not have come into our lives in the same manner your sister will,” Mythal soothes as Selenes father crawls into the other side of the bed, effectively trapping her between them. “But we will not love you any less for her presence. You have been a very good child, and always done what we have asked of you. You have nothing to fear from us.”

 

Selene sniffs, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“…Will you read me a story?”

“Of course,” Mythal agrees, and Elgar'nan passes over one of her storybooks from his bedside table.

 

Her parents voices drone around her, as they tell her a story about three bears and a girl with golden hair, her father impersonating and mimicking what he imagines their voices to sound like.

It is everything she could have ever hoped for, really.

She will have to make sure to continue to earn her place, as she grows.

* * *

Selene is twenty when she gets married.

She chooses her partner from a list of potentials, hand picked by her mother based on past encounters and rated by how potentially beneficial it could be for the company. There is a Venavismi, whom Selene has met but she knows is already in love with the girl who grows flowers. There is Melanadahl, who she has also met but who is flighty and at a high risk to stray outside of their marriage which would be unwelcome publicity. And while his family is well off, there is little to gain on her end in such a partnership.

And then there is Richard Trevelyan.

 

A bland man, by all accounts. Easily manipulated and easily broken. The only human on the list, and a family known to not be fond of mages, historically.  But his family has a large hold on markets she has been looking to branch into, and if they are willing to marry him off to an elven mage, then likely they are out of other options. Which gives her negotiating power.

It is a good business deal.

 

Selene stays married for a year and a half.

On their honeymoon, he croons that she looks like something from a museum, and she kindly tells him museum pieces are not meant to be touched, and she expects the same courtesy.

It is not that she doesn’t understand what honeymoons are  _for_. Selene is familiar with the concept of sex and the end goal of a sexual climax. She’s simply never seen the point, and he  _is_  a grown man after all, certainly he can see to his own needs if they are so ‘desperately’ pulling at him.

Paperwork doesn’t stop just because she is on vacation.

 

She is fairly certain that Dick  _will_  stray, however. His eyes roam at events they attend, and his emails occasionally contain lewd pictures of his genitals sent to addresses he never seems to realize don’t have any actual people on the other end of them, just bots infecting his laptop with spyware and viruses she has to routinely clear off of his (entirely separate because she isn’t risking her families company) server. It is only a matter of time until he gets caught, and she will not have him dragging her name through the mud. She has  _earned_ her name.

 

So after a year and a half, she approaches her mother.

“I do not want to be married to Dick any longer,” She explains. “I think he is more trouble than he is worth, and we should cut him loose.”

Mythal hums around a half full glass of red wine, and Selene picks idly at her summer salad. Dick has already inherited his families company, and Selene has already gained significant experience with running it, as well as gained the loyalty of the bulk of his employees.

She knows what her mother will say before she says it, but that piece of herself she can never seem to get rid of, that nagging piece of her mind that is filled with self-doubt and wonders if she might still be cut loose if she missteps still begs her to wait for a confirmation before moving forward.

“Better a widow than a divorcee,” Mythal comments.

 

 

The funeral is two weeks later. It is a large event, public and decadent and her mother makes most of the arrangements for both the event and the ‘corporate fallout’. Which consists largely of making sure there are no loopholes in Selenes own inheritance of the company in her late husbands will, or in the subsequent acquisition of Trevelyan LLC by Evanuris Inc.

Her father is mostly upset that Dick managed to pass away before impregnating her.

 

“Well,” Selene soothes, “If he hadn’t managed it in the year and a half of our marriage, it’s unlikely more time would really have helped.”

She does not bother to mention that in that year and a half, they had never actually consummated their marriage. That the mere thought of being touched by Dick Trevelyan in such a way sent chills down her spine and made the words on her tongue sharper, somehow. There were always books to read, or contracts to write, or numbers to oversee that seemed infinitely more interesting to her.

He finally calms down when she reminds him that she can still choose to adopt.

 

Still.

The acquisition does give her a larger office and a more impressive title, and so the marriage hadn’t been a total failure. Their conservation efforts can gain more of a media foothold, with the miles and miles of land the Trevelyan family had previously possessed.

She has a meeting today with someone who lives in the middle of it, in fact. Some Dalish negotiator who should give her an easy day. Buy them lunch, offer to lower their tax rate in exchange for the rights to put a road through some of their land; the tolls they’re planning on adding will more than make up the difference after all, even if she decides to give the Dalish free passage through it, and her contacts in Starkhaven have been looking for a faster route past the Vimmark Mountains.

Two birds, one stone.

 

“Oh Miss Seleeeeene~” drawls her personal assistant and long time friend, Des. “Your eleven o’ clock is here. And he’s a  _cutie_.”

“Thank you Des,” Selene says, standing from her chair as they let the Dalish negotiator in.

 

And he is…

Oh.

He  _is_  a cutie.

 

Normally this is the part where she would greet them, hold out her hand for a polite shake and get started on the negotiations, but she finds her mouth strangely dry. 

The man is tall, slightly more so than she is, with long black hair pulled back into a rather stylish low ponytail. Traditional dalish markings adorn his face in a pale silver that make the steel aspect of his blue eyes particularly striking. He is not in a suit, but something closer to the clothing she has seen in old historical books that he might have walked right off the page of.  _Classically handsome_  is the term, she thinks. Worn leather foot wraps that go all the way up his thighs, disappearing beneath the fabric of a well-tailored and deep blue…tunic, she thinks is the correct word?   
Whatever it is, it is very flattering on his frame.

 

Des raises his eyebrow from the door frame while he lingers, mouthing a silent  _'see?’_ at her, before she clears her throat and remembers herself.

“Hello, its nice to meet you. I’m Selene Evanuris.”

“Hello,” He returns with a polite nod of his head. “I am Dirthamen, of Clan Lavellan.”

 

She offers him a seat, and they begin negotiations. He is fond of the offer to lower their taxes, but blanches at the mention of a new road.

“That would cut straight through our hunting grounds,” he argues. “Many in our clan would be rightfully upset at such a deal.”

“It’s a  _good_ deal,” She pushes “We would not charge your clan for its use, or its maintenance-”

“Development would upset the wildlife in the area. You would scare away our largest food source.”

“What if we agreed to send your clan food, via the road? I could write in rationing boxes, and we would eat the cost if you allow us the rights.”

“We are not interested in the cities leftovers,” Dirthamen says wryly. “I am not going to approve you to cut our home in half with asphalt and strangers we would not welcome.”

“Aren’t Dalish clans supposed to be nomadic?” Selene sighs. This is taking longer than she thought it might; their lunch leftovers long turned room temperature, and the sun is beginning to set. “Couldn’t you just relocate to wherever your food source ran off to?”

“Are you suggesting I uproot our entire way of life, because the humans in Starkhaven wish to cut down on their travel time?”

 

Selene raises an eyebrow, a smile sneaking onto the edge of her lips. “Someone did their research,” She compliments. “But it takes nearly two days to drive around those mountains now. That’s not nothing.”

“Their time is not more important than our way of life,” Dirthamen asserts in a way that makes her feel strangely warm, as she shifts in her chair. “I am not going to give you permission to build your road, Mrs. Trevelyan-”

 

“Ms. Evanuris,” She interrupts. “My husband has passed, and I never changed my name.”

Dirthamen nods, slowly. “We were sorry to hear of the death of your husband.”

“No you weren’t,” Selene snorts. “You’re here to negotiate because your clans land is finally in the hands of an elf rather than those of a human, and your keeper hoped the thought of ‘Kinship’ might mean you could make a better deal than you’ve had in the past.”

 

“It seems you have also done your research,” Dirthamen answers after a moments hesitation.

“Mm,” Selene hums. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not at liberty to give anything for nothing. You will have to make some sort of concession. I would recommend agreeing to the road through your clans hunting grounds; at least you’ll get something out of that deal.”

 

Dirthamen is silent then, and Selene watches as the setting sunlight moves across the features of his face, casting him in beautiful hues of purple and yellow.

She sighs.

“Join me for dinner?”

He blinks, eyebrows furrowing. “I…”

“Clearly we’re not going to manage this today, and I had a light lunch. I’m hungry now, and would like to eat. Join me for dinner?”

He hesitates before nodding and rising from his chair.

“Yes, thank you.”

 

She takes him someplace nice, at least. Assures him it’s her treat (her companies treat, really, this can all be written off as a business expense) and they go to a restaurant high brow enough that they don’t bother writing the prices on the menu.

People stare at them when they enter, but that is not anything new, for her.

Although, if word gets out she spent an evening negotiating with a member of a Dalish clan…Maybe she might be able to use that to leverage confidence and a higher contribution from her Starkhaven contacts for initial production costs?

 

He tells her about his home, over dinner. About his brother who is apparently the lead hunter (which explains his concern about the hunting lands, she supposes), and their way of life, and their system of beliefs.

Not that he seems particularly devoted to them.

“I have always been considered strange,” he admits. “It is one of the reasons I handle the negotiations with outside elements. My talents are not always useful inside the clan.”

“I can’t imagine not wanting to keep you close,” She hums, realizing too late the wine may have been too much with the small amount of food she’s eaten today. “I’ve barely known you a day, and you seem very useful. Smart, clever, pretty, and slightly stubborn. It’s a good combination.”

 

His face turns an abrupt red, flushing all the way down his lovely neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“You…are trying to flatter me, in an attempt to get me to agree to your terms.”

 

Selene lets out a dreamy sigh, head tilting slightly as she leans it into her hand. “Wouldn’t it be better if I were? Surely you’re familiar with your own merits.”

“My brother is the popular one,” Dirthamen assures her.

“Popular doesn’t always mean better. Often times, the most valuable people go overlooked. Under appreciated…” She blinks into the bottom of her empty glass. “Or simply taken for granted. You may not value my word much, but I assure you, my compliments are honest.”

“You are drunk,” Dirthamen insists.

“Barely tipsy,” Selene says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “And even if I were, it wouldn’t make me a liar.”

 

Dirthamen is staring at her now, a look in his eyes she can’t quite manage to figure out. A faint blush still dusts over his cheeks, and there is a heat rising in her she’s not familiar with.

She bites down on her bottom lip, debating her options.

 

“If you’re concerned about it,” She offers “You could always walk me home.”

* * *

It’s a short walk back to her apartment.

But one better made with company, she thinks.

 

Dirthamen (sweet, deceptively  _naive_  given his sense for business, Dirthamen) keeps one hand hovering behind her the whole way. As though genuinely concerned she might be so inebriated as to suddenly fall backwards, but too polite to actually touch her unless absolutely necessary.

It is surprisingly endearing.

He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other during the elevator ride, a soft classical song playing through the old speaker system. The doors ding as they slide open to her floor, and Selene steps out to unlock her door; the only one actually  _on_  this floor, Dirthamen realizes as he looks up and down the hallway.

 

“Are you staying at a hotel?” Selene asks as she walks into her apartment, expecting him to follow. “I can call you a car, or send someone to pick up your luggage…”She trails off as he freezes in her entryway, eyes roaming over her home.

She supposes it can be a bit…much.

 

Solid oak covers most of her walls; bookshelves custom built to take advantage of every inch of space afforded to her by her raised ceilings and stuffed full of books in every language she’s managed to learn. Cove style lighting gives the living room a soft white glow, and the only wall not attached to her open kitchen (which she still needs to remodel, come to think of it) or covered in books is made entirely of windows, stretching from ceiling to floor and giving her an expansive (and expensive) view of the city.

There is a long, round couch in the center of the room, covered in soft blankets and pillows and surrounding a coffee table made from the same oak as her bookshelves. It’s still littered with spare phone batteries she needs to charge and a few other documents that still need to be signed outside of the view of security cameras.

 

“Make yourself comfortable,” She instructs, pulling two water bottles out of her refrigerator along with a tupperware filled with pre-washed grapes. “I’d ask you to take off your shoes, but you don’t seem to be wearing any.”

He nods, slowly making his way over the couch.

 

“Have you read all of these?” He asks, eyes scanning over her private library.

“I’m still working through parts of the East wall,” She admits, handing him one of the bottled waters. “And many of the harder to find and out of immediate reach books are too old to actually handle. But for the most part, yes.”

“That is…quite a lot.”

“I suppose,” she shrugs, quickly stacking the loose papers from her coffee table and stuffing them into a nearby empty folder. “They are time well spent. You didn’t answer my question earlier; would you like me to call you a car, or do you have luggage I should send for in a hotel somewhere?”

“I do not have a hotel,” He informs her. “I was expecting to be making the journey home by now.”

“Well, if you’d like to simply sign a yes…”

He gives her a wry look.

 

“Worth a shot,” She laughs. “You can stay in the spare room then.”

“I do not wish to be any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. Though it has been out of use for some time, I may need to change the sheets.”

Dirthamen nods, clearly feeling awkward. “Since your husband died…?”

 

Selene blinks, and then lets out a small laugh. “No, my husband never stayed here. There was a house we owned out near Ostwick where he spent most of his time. I’d visit frequently since trade in the area is good, but this is  _my_  home, and my space. My sisters used to come by for sleepovers when my parents were traveling, and Des-you met him earlier, my assistant- used to use it before I gave him one of the apartments downstairs.”

“You own more than one apartment in this building?”

“I own the building,” Selene hums. “Well, the company does. We rent out to high-level employees, sometimes the accountants and their families during tax season. No need to worry about our workers getting stuck in traffic, and if there’s an emergency or I need to reach someone, I can just knock on their door.”

“That is very…”

“Practical.”

“I was going to say intrusive.”

 

Selene pops a grape from the tupperware into her mouth. “I haven’t had complaints so far. We have an in-house daycare for their children, a security guard to covertly watch the bus stop, and my father always fills the lobby with gifts in the wintertime. Not to mention the local schools are top tier, and we have a team of doctors who make house calls at all hours. And that is  _before_  their salary. It’s a good package.”

“And of course your own apartment is the entirety of the top floor, where they are below you even outside of business hours.”

“It’s not supposed to be a subtle metaphor,” She grins.

 

Dirthamen silently eats one of the offered grapes, eyes boring into her face.

It would be uncomfortable, she thinks, if she weren’t equally interested in staring at his own.

 

“Am I correct in assuming you don’t have a change of clothes?” she finally says.

Dirthamen blinks, cheeks fainting a light pink. “I will be fine.”

“I can have your outfit dry-cleaned by morning if you’re uncomfortable in other clothing styles,” Selene offers.

“And in the meantime…?”

 

This time it is Selene who goes red, a heat rising in her lower stomach at the mental flash of the elf in front of her undressing.

“There are sleeping clothes in the drawers of the spare room you can use. And it has its own stocked bathroom and towels, if you’d like a shower.”

 

He thanks her, dismissing himself for just that as she instructs him to leave the dirtied clothes outside the bedroom door. She makes a quick call to the buildings housekeeping, and then locks herself inside her own bedroom and makes another immediate call to Des.

 

“I’m not coming in at midnight just so you can steal some land for a stupid road,” he grumbles into the receiver in lieu of a greeting. “I was in at 6am this morning, have a heart. The dirt and the trees will still be there when the sun comes up.”

“I brought him home,” She declares, hand tapping nervously on the wall beside her even as she says it.

“…You brought him  _home_?” Des repeats.

“The meeting ran long-”

“Well I already knew that.”

“-and I was hungry so I invited him out to dinner, and I had a glass of wine and then he walked me home. And now he is in the spare room, showering by the sound of the running pipes and probably  _naked_ -”

“Do you really believe people shower any other way?”

“-and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to  _do_. You have naked elves in your apartment all the time; what am I supposed to do with him?”

“…You never actually had sex with Dick, did you?”

Selene sighs. “ _No_.”

“Do you want to have sex with Dirthamen?”

 

“That’s…” Selene stammers “That’s not-that’s-how would I even know something like that? Who looks at someone and thinks ‘gee I’d sure like to stick your genitals in my orifices’ or-or-or whatever else sort of…sweaty, vulnerable mess is involved.”

“All that money and you never bothered with therapy…” He mutters, and she can hear his hand dragging down his face.

“ _ **DES!**_ ” she hisses urgently.

“Look, if you’re not interested in sex, then don’t have sex. Just because he’s naked doesn’t mean you’re required to do anything about it. You know that, you managed a sexless marriage.”

“Because I didn’t _want_  to see him naked, or have him touch me, and he wasn’t…”

“Attractive? Dreamy? Sexy in that  _forbidden fruit_  sort of way?”

“I’ve met plenty of attractive people. This is…I don’t know what’s happening. I should be able to handle this, right? It’s perfectly normal?”

“Mmm…” Des muses doubtfully.

 

“You’re fired,” She says flatly. “You’re absolutely useless, and you’re fired.”

“Does that mean I can go back to sleep?” Des teases.

“No,  _help me_!”

“Can’t, you fired me.”

“Fine, you’re rehired.”

“No no,  _woo_  me. I want a raise. My boss keeps waking me up at night to tell me she’s not getting laid.”

“Bite me.”

“Shouldn’t you be saying that to the naked elf in your apartment instead?”

Selene lets out a long groan.

“Do you even have underwear for him?”

“Oh  _fu_ -” She curses, clicking off her phone and opening the door, meaning to go down to the concierge’s apartment and get a package of emergency briefs.

 

Only to be greeted with Dirthamen.

Wearing the spare blue pajama pants.

And her immediate, halting realization that those are absolutely the  _only_  piece of clothing on him.

 

Her eyes (her treasonous, perverted eyes) drift down to the front of his crotch, where she knows only a single button in the middle of the front seam keeps it closed and allows him his privacy. They make sure to take their time trailing over the expanse of exposed skin offered on their way down; a toned chest, well formed from an active lifestyle and marked by the occasional light scarring that has left small pink marks scattered over the tempting plains of his shoulders and stomach.

Marks she would very much like to touch and taste for reasons that elude her.

Her mouth suddenly feels very, very dry.

 

“You….found the pants,” She manages, trying to regain control of herself, and her rapidly emerging libido. “Good. That’s good.”

“Yes. They are very comfortable,” he says, shifting awkwardly again in a way that draws her eyes to the lines of his hips. “Thank you for your generosity.”

“It’s no problem,” She assures him, trying to pull her eyes back to make contact with his own, her tongue darting out to lick her surprisingly dry lips, the remnants of her lipstick. “Do you need anything else?”

 

“Uh…” he stammers, face flushing again as his own eyes drift down to her mouth.

_Oh,_  she thinks.  _The blush goes all the way down his chest._

That’s….certainly interesting information to have.

 

“I believe I will be fine for the evening,” He finally says. “Thank you.”

Selene nods, swallowing and offering a polite smile. “Good night then.”

“Good night,” he returns as she disappears into her room.

 

She quickly changes into her own sleep clothes, crawling under the too-hot covers with her current night stand book. This is normally  _her_ time, when she gets to unwind with an hour of her own choice of reading before bed.

But tonight…

Her skin feels flushed and warm, her sheets thick and uncomfortable against it. Nerves alight, and head spinning with thoughts of the other elf only a living room away.

Was this intentional on his part?

Was he trying to affect her this way, maybe? Throw her off her usual tactics in an attempt to unbalance her…?

She certainly feels as though her steady ground has been ripped out from under her. Each step, each word, each twitch of his finger makes her dreadfully aware of her own body. Another sensation to be unfamiliar with, a pull from her own instincts and a weight in her chest to pull him closer. To see if his body is being tortured as much as her own.

…however pleasant the torture might be.

 

Her shower is quick and cold, and after her third unsuccessful attempt to read and absorb the next paragraph of her book in bed, Selene resigns herself to a night of fitful sleep and staring at her ceiling. To focusing on keeping a steady flame at her fingertips, in a fruitless attempt to feel less internally lit.

It is a very long night.

–

 

Her mother calls exactly 5 minutes after her morning alarm.

 

“Good morning mother,” Selene greets into the receiver, stifling a yawn.

“Good morning dear,” She returns. “How did the meeting go? I heard the Dalish representative gave you trouble and ran later than expected.”

 

“Ah…” Selene stalls, memory of the previous night returning, mind working to decide exactly how much of it to share. “Yes. I had Des reschedule the meeting with the accountants to next week to accommodate.”

“That’s fine of course,” her mother approves “Did we get the approval then?”

“Not quite yet,” Selene evades. “Their representative was more stubborn than I anticipated.”

“Is there an issue?”

“Only a rigidly straight moral compass,” Selene jokes, trying to keep the notes of admiration out of her voice as she stares at her closed door. “Nothing a little more time and persuasion won’t fix.”

“I trust you to handle this,” her mother says in the tone she knows actually means 'get this done’. “If you require assistance…”

“I can handle it,” Selene assures her. “I’m meeting with him again today.”

“Oh? I didn’t see it on your schedule.”

“It’s only 5, and the meeting last night ran late. Des likely hasn’t gotten in to update it yet.”

“Hm. I will see you for our lunch this afternoon?”

“Of course,” Selene agrees . “I’ll see you then mother. Good bye.”

“Good bye dear.”

 

Selene looks down at her cell phone as the screen dims out, biting her lower lip nervously;

She  _can_  handle this, right?

* * *

Selene is still wiggling into her dress when she opens the front door to Des, carrying a container and three travel cups of coffee.

“Good morning,” he greets with a grin. “Finally scratch that itch?”

Selene takes the cup with an  _S_  on it in silence as Dirthamen pads out of the spare room.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Des hums, waving at the Dalish man “Sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Dirthamen greets as he stifles a yawn. “It is very early.”

 

“It’s a busy day,” Selene informs him, slipping the third cup into one of his hands and turning him back around to face the spare room, trying not to focus on her fingers touching his bared shoulders. “Your clothes are still being cleaned, but Des will help you find something appropriate to wear.”

Her assistants face lights up as he cheers about ‘early holiday bonuses’ and leads Dirthamen back into the spare room.

 

“No funny business!” Selene calls through the door, strangely nervous for some reason. “And Dirthamen, if he gets too handsy, just speak up. His bark’s worse than his bite.”

“No one’s ever complained about one of my bites,” Des shoots back, opening the door just enough to peek his head out.  Selene resists the urge to look past him and further into the room, leaving to slip into her red heels instead.

 

A few minutes pass before the two emerge, Dirthamens hair pulled back into a low ponytail once again, resting over his shoulder and a dark blazer that looks like it might have been tailored specifically for him. Beneath that is a very soft shirt, and a pair of flowing pants that taper out from his hips to look like a skirt when his legs are together.

 

“No tie?” She hums, trying to seem less bothered than she is by the striking silhouette Des has managed to craft.

“He’s a bit of a whiner about fabrics,” Des sighs dramatically “My options were limited.”

“Fair enough,” Selene nods, hooking her purse over her shoulder. “Ready to go to work?”

“Your dress is still unzipped,” Dirthamen comments, eyes looking pointedly up at the ceiling.

Selene freezes, gaze slowly sliding towards Des who is trying to stifle a laugh, even as he moves closer to her.

 

“I could have you killed and buried somewhere no one would ever find the pieces you know,” She grumbles quietly enough so that only her assistant can hear.

“But then who would zip up your dress?” He returns, effortlessly completing the task in question.

–

 

Unfortunately, it truly  _is_  a busy day.

She and Dirthamen manage to spend the first hour looking for a solution over a fruit and pastry breakfast. They pour over a map together, tossing numbers back and forth before Dirthamen offers up a unique idea.

“You really think that would work?” Selene hums, looking it over.

“I think it is the only solution,” he nods from beside her as they stare at the designated markings they’ve made.

“It’ll be a hard sell,” She muses “But I think if you could really get your side to agree, it would work out best for all of us.”

Dirthamen offers her a soft smile, and she feels her heart leap in her chest.

 

After that, most of her morning is spent with one of their Orlesian representatives, settling details and goals for several of their holdings throughout the countryside, and before long it is time for her to go to lunch.

 

“Am I going with you?” Dirthamen asks as Selene finally steps out of her office.

Des looks at her expectantly, and Selene hesitates.

“No,” She informs him. “I’m meeting with my mother; there’s no reason for you to be there. Des will look after you while I’m gone.”

Dirthamen frowns, but doesn’t offer any further arguments before Selene steps into the elevator, making her way down and out to the usual restaurant.

 

–

She arrives 2 minutes before her mother, already situated at the table and arranging their usual drinks.

 

“Hello my dear,” Mythal greets as Selene stands and they exchange their usual not-quite-kiss on the cheeks before taking their seats.

“Hello mother. You look well.”

“Thank you. That is a lovely dress. The navy suits you.”

“Thank you,” She returns.

The waitress takes their usual orders and vanishes, and Selene waits while her mother takes a sip of her cocktail.

 

“I heard a rumor,” Mythal notes “That you brought someone home with you last night.”

“Ah,” Selene nods, tamping down on her internal panic “That was the Dalish negotiator. He hadn’t planned on spending the night in town, and I thought he might be more pliable if he saw our more generous side. He spent the evening in the guest room.”

“And where is he now?”

“At the office,” Selene answers truthfully.

“And he spent the whole evening in the guest room?”

“That’s right.”

“And where, precisely, did you spend  _your_  night?”

Selene frowns, twirling her beverage lightly in her fingers. “In my own room, of course.”

Mythal nods approvingly. “How is the agreement progressing, then?”

“He’s…got a different perspective than we do. Apparently the land we had planned on developing into the roadway is a piece of their hunting grounds. They aren’t thrilled by the prospect of having their land cut down even further.”

“Unfortunately, there are no alternative options for them.”

 

Selene bites down on her lower lip. “Actually….I was looking at the map with him this morning and I think there  _may_  be another option. We could still build the road where we want to, and even take the rest of the land further West of it. We could develop that into stores, apartments, a park, whatever would be most profitable-”

“Certainly not a park, in that case. What would the Dalish get from this agreement? It seems unlikely your 'rigidly straight moral compass’ friend would give up all of that for nothing. Or was your evening together particularly convincing?”

“It wasn’t-we didn’t do anything like that, mother. Give me some credit.”

 

Mythal nods, and signals for her to continue, “And in exchange…?”

“We would give them the land we own to the East of them; about another hundred miles.”

“We do not have another hundred miles of empty space to give them,” Mythal notes.

“True,” Selene agrees, “But there are only vacation homes there. Mansions that are rarely used, many in disrepair due to how far out of the way the area is. I’m sure if we offered the families who own them a relocation credit, to move to the western space we’d be gaining, perhaps even pulled a few favors, we could clear the space in little to no time.”

“So your idea is to give land  _back_  to the Dalish?”

“Partially, yes.”

“That is a very dangerous precedent.”

“Isn’t it better to set them than be forced to follow?”

“Not in this case, no.”

“We could write off a portion of our costs as charity,” Selene points out. “It’s not large, but there is technically a fund to assist companies who offer services to help the Dalish reservations. The difference is able to be written off as a tax credit; I made a call about it this morning.”

 

Mythal takes another sip of her cocktail in silence, as their food is placed on the table before them. Selene tries not to squirm in her seat beneath her mothers contemplative stare.

“I think you have been spending too much time with the Dalish boy,” She finally comments. “There is no reason to give them such a large portion of land. Offer twenty miles, and if necessary, push to twenty five.”

“They’d be losing-”

“I am aware of how much they would be losing. But remember we are doing them a kindness just by offering them this much. We are not a charity; we are a business, and I do not care how infatuated you are with their representative. He will be gone from your life soon enough; do not offer him so much of yourself so easily.”

 

Selene swallows, nodding as she stabs her fork into her salad.

Well.

That didn’t work.

–

She makes the offer to Dirthamen after lunch.

 

“ _Twenty_  miles?” He repeats back to her.

“I can go as high as twenty five,” She sighs. “Any more than that is out of the question.”

“Then my answer to your question remains the same; no.”

“Dirthamen…” she groans.

“I am sorry Ms. Evanuris,” He asserts. “I am not going back to my clan with less than we started with.”

“The offers are only going to get worse from here,” She tries to explain. “On the first of the month, my families fees for your clan are going to skyrocket; the portion of your revenue you’ll owe to us, the taxation on your imports, your  _ex_ ports…My mother wants to charge you a fee  _per Halla!_ The road is  _getting_  built; there is nothing you can do to stop that. Your best bet is to minimize the damage that will happen between now and then.” She lets out a sigh, and rubs her forehead tenderly. “Take the offer now, and re-negotiate it in a few years when the western side is looking more like a bargain than a chance, and the eastern mansions have fallen further into disrepair. You will have a stronger starting position, and will likely be able to get the rest of your hundred miles with little fuss from us.”

“And in the meantime?”

“Suck it up?” Selene offers with a wince. “I wish I could do more for you, but I still have a business to run.”

Dirthamens face twists, and his shoulders raise before he turns and walks out of her office at a rapid pace. Des peeks his head in curiously and Selene signals for him to follow; the last thing she needs right now is for Dirthamen to storm all the way back to his clan with nothing changed on either side. For him to come back in a few months when food and resources have been stretched thin, and for her to be able to offer him nothing but a return to their previous, survivable rates.

…Maybe she  _is_  soft on him.

 

There is a knock on her door as one of the construction managers appears for his appointment.

She waves him in, and switches binders, hoping that this planning will not all be for naught.

–

 

She doesn’t see Dirthamen again until she gets home in the evening.

She should be concerned about how comfortable he looks on her couch, she thinks. Curled up with a pile of her books and a glass of tea, beneath one of her heated blankets. But all she can really think about is how much her back and feet ache and how nice it might feel to lay next to him and let his fingers run through her hair the way they are trailing absently over the spine of the book until she falls asleep.

 

“Hello,” She greets instead, stepping out of her heels and closing her front door.

“Hello,” He returns, turning a page without looking up.

“Are you alright?”

“I am upset,” he admits. “I do not like the way your family does business.”

“You barely know the way my family does business,” She returns, feeling slightly defensive at his criticism.

“I know your family feels money is worth more than life; that is enough to know that I do not agree with the way your family does business.”

“I take it you haven’t realized you should follow my advice yet then?”

 

The book closes, and Dirthamen rises from the couch. “We do not take well to threats,” He informs her, moving to greet her on the entryway steps. “Threatening to starve us out, and to take away what little land we have left is not the way the world should be run. I think  _you_  know that. I do not think your family does.”

Selene swallows, eyes narrowing slightly. “Whatever Des said to you-”

“This is not about Des,” Dirthamen dismisses. “This is about protecting the people I consider family. It is about preserving our traditions, and ensuring that our people will never be seen as property or commodities again. We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.”

“It is a very powerful sentiment,” Selene relents. “But it is an outdated one. I am not trying to get you to submit; I am trying to get you back on equal footing. How much resentment do you think is formed by the locals, every time they have to add an extra two days to their trips to get around your current reservation? Every time one of their kids wanders too deep into the forest and never finds their way back out? Do you think those people idolize the Dalish? Do you think they care about your traditions, or hunting grounds, or way of life when it interferes with theirs?”

“I think that is the  _only_  time they care.”

 

Selene tenses.

Her fingers twitch, and he is so close, and so intense that it overwhelms her for a moment.

A brief, glorious moment.

She spins him, pinning him back to the door, one arm on either side of his head as her mouth lingers barely an inch away from his own. Her eyes are locked onto the soft, plush flesh of his lips, mind spinning with possibilities of what they might taste like, what it might feel like to press her own against them. Would he return it? Would he gasp, his mouth opening just enough for her to slide her tongue in for a deeper exploration while her hands slid under his shirt to feel the rough edges of his scars?

Would it be a mistake?

 

“Ms. Evanuris…” He breathes, pulling her eyes back up to look at his own.

“I think you can call me Selene,” She returns.

“What are you…”

“I am contemplating the pros and cons of kissing you right now, because I would like to,” She answers honestly. “I think it would be enjoyable, and I think you are very attractive, and I do not think I am terrible at it. But it would be very unprofessional, and I do not know if you would be comfortable with me taking such a liberty with you, and I do not actually want you to think I am the terrible monster I might be.”

His tongue darts out briefly to lick his lips, and she resists the urge to chase after it.

“I do not mind being unprofessional, while we are outside of a professional work space,” he admits.

 

Selene crushes her lips against him, pushing him further into the door as she all but devours him. Sweet and a little salty, one of her hands creeping beneath his blazer to curve around his waist as she presses herself against him. He groans, allowing her tongue to slip into his mouth as she realizes he was drinking a glass of her peach tea. Fingers awkwardly slide around her hips, hands settling just above the curve of her ass as she lets out a shiver at the contact. New, and electrifying, the hand not on his waist traces the curve of his ear and something inside of her bursts to life at the way his body arches back into hers.

Her doorbell rings, and all at once she pulls away.

“Des can’t see us like this,” She mutters “Go-go sit on the couch.”

 

Dirthamen nods, eyes slightly glazed over and his erection pressing noticeably against the soft material of his pants. She waits until he has the blanket back over his lap before opening the door.

Only to be greeted with the face of her sister, a duffle bag slung over her arm.

 

“Andruil,” Selene greets in surprise as the shorter woman pushes past her and into the apartment. “What…what brings you here?”

“Well, I had thought it would be your car, but that turned out to be a bust.”

Selene blinks, head still dizzy from the rush of only a minute ago as she searches for words and finds none.

  
“You missed my lacrosse game,” Andruil accuses flatly.

…What?

… _ **OH!**_

“I thought that was next week,” Selene tries to cover.

“No, next week is the championship, which we’d only get to if we had won  _todays_  game.”

“And did you?”

Andruil lets out a scoff, tossing her duffle bag roughly towards the doorway of the spare room. “Of course I did! I carried the whole team! Which you’d have known, if you’d have been there!”

“I’m sorry,” Selene apologizes. “I promise I’ll be there for the championship.”

“Whatever,” Andruil says with a dismissive wave. “I’m crashing here tonight. Dad’s being an ass so you’re taking me to the theme park with my friends in the morning.”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“You don’t have a half hour to drive your  _own sister_?”

 

Selene lets out a sigh; Andruil is very good at knowing which buttons to push, unfortunately.

“Of course I do,” Selene relents. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Cool,” Andruil nods. “Sylaise might come too, then.”

“That’s…fine.”

“Can we order pizza?” Andruil asks, before her eyes finally find the man on the couch. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Watch your language,” Selene berates. “That’s Dirthamen; he’s…”

“Your boyfriend?” Andruil says, scrunching up her face.

“No,” Selene insists. “He’s….a business associate.”

“Does Mom know he’s here?”

“Yes,” Selene says. Which is not, technically, a lie.

“I’m not sharing my room with him.”

“That’s fine. I’ll find somewhere else for him. Right, Dirthamen?”

Dirthamen nods awkwardly from his space on the couch, making no move at all to stand.

 

The pizza shows up about an hour later, and Sylaise another fifteen minutes after that. The bookcases open up to reveal her television, and she lets her sisters argue over what to watch while she sits on the opposite side of the couch from Dirthamen, so as not to arouse (more) suspicion.

 

Towards the end of the movie, Selene realizes she’ll probably need to share her bed with him that evening.

Which is…

hm.

 

She sends a quick text to the housekeeper working that evening and requests clean sheets for her guestroom and an extra twenty pillows.

They ask if she and her family are making a pillow fort again, and she sees no reason to say otherwise.

 

 

When the box of pillows arrives though, Selene promptly carries them into her own bedroom, and tells her sister it’s time for them to go to bed if they’re planning on getting to the park at opening.

Dirthamen follows her silently into her bedroom, watching as she stacks the pillows into a small wall, vertically dividing the bed.

 

“We’re not having sex,” she asserts.

“That seems very clear,” he nods, indicating towards the barrier.

“Good,” she says. “After earlier, I wasn’t sure what…I wasn’t sure where we stood on that particular matter.”

“This does seem to run counter to your… _behavior_ , earlier.”

“Yeah, well,” Selene gestures towards her door with her hands. “My sisters are here, and I’m not going to-I mean we’re not going to-I don’t-”

“I believe I understand,” Dirthamen assures her. “It is alright.”

“Good,” Selene repeats with a nod. “I’m gonna…go shower now.”

 

Dirthamen nods. “I suppose I should not join you?” he teases.

Selene spins on her heel, face red and one finger raised. “ _ **You**_ ….I let you spend too much time with Des today.”

“That does seem to have been a miscalculation on your part, yes.” He laughs. “But I promise, I will not push any boundaries you are not comfortable with.”

Selene nods again in thanks, face still flaming and resisting the urge to push him back onto the bed and crush her lips to his. To breathe in his laugh, and taste his smile and find out how to bring it out again and again.

 

It is going to be a very long night, she thinks.


	5. Vague Modern AU

Dirthamen has, somehow, asked Sylaise to help him with his ‘relationship problems’.

Dirthamen is not entirely certain how this happened. He had not been aware that he was  _having_  ‘relationship problems’, though apparently, he has been, and for quite some time. Sylaise assures him that she is doing a very great favour, though, and despite the fact that she is several years younger than him, Dirthamen is willing to concede that she is much more accomplished in the field of relationships than he is.

“Ta-da!” Sylaise exclaims, and finally pulls the make-up brush away from his face. “You can open your eyes now.”

“Should I?” Dirthamen wonders. He has been fully capable of opening his eyes throughout this process, after all, but had been cautioned that if he did, it would ‘spoil everything’.

“ _Yes,”_  Sylaise says, huffily. “I worked a miracle, you should look at it and be in awe.”

Dirthamen opens his eyes, and stares into his younger sister’s vanity mirror. And then blinks, and takes a moment to process the image in front of him.

He looks… like he is wearing a mask, almost.

A very smooth mask, that has contoured and softened his features in a variety of ways, not all of which he can readily identify. The overall effect is very dramatic, however. His eyelids are shimmering, and there are a few deliberate spots of glitter on top of his cheekbones – like freckles, almost, but gleaming – and his lips have been given the illusion that they are larger than they are.

Sylaise is smiling.

“I did  _fantastic,”_  she informs him.

“Thank you,” Dirthamen says, dutifully. “Well done.”

Sylaise nods at him.

“Briala found out from her tutor, Felassan, who is in classes with Des, who is friends with Selene, that she likes  _pretty_  people. And I mean, well, who  _doesn’t?_  Pretty people are the best. So. You’re going to wear that nice blue blouse – the you wore for Falon’Din’s going away party, remember? – and I’ve stolen one of Andruil’s skirts that she never wears anyway, and it’s going to look fantastic with it. I wish we had time to go and get you some kitten heels in a decent size – I don’t think you could walk in pumps – but we only have another hour left. And then you’re going to give  _this_  to Selene, because if we let you handle it yourself you’ll probably just do something weird, like compare to her an emu or something, and when she says ‘yes’, you are going to pay me back by driving June and I to the movies any time we want to go,” Sylaise informs him.

Dirthamen takes a moment to process all of that.

“Emus have long legs…” he muses, though he does not think Selene is very much like one, anyway. He knows the blouse Sylaise is referring to, at least. Or he thinks he does. Falon’Din’s going away party had been a very dramatic affair. His brother had not wished to attend military school, although their father had been insistent. Dirthamen does not think he would have been sent away if their mother was still alive. But he cannot know for certain, and in the end, it had been their father’s decision to make.

Selfishly, Dirthamen is somewhat glad that their father had been angry enough with Falon’Din to deny his final request that Dirthamen at least go with him. According to his brother’s texts on the matter, Military School is the worst place that has ever existed.

Sylaise flicks the back of his ear.

“Don’t say to her,” she instructs. “Just walk your sexiest walk and then give her the letter. Alright?”

Dirthamen nods. He almost asks what would be entailed by his ‘sexiest walk’, or which sort of walk that might be, but after a moment he decides that he will google it instead. Sylaise shoos him out of her room – she has to get ready for school now, and Dirthamen must change into his blouse and the skirt the she thrusts into his arms. He passes Andruil in the hall, but she does not seem to recognize the skirt as anything belonging to her.

She stares at his face for a long moment, though.

“What the hell happened to you?” she finally asks him.

“Sylaise is helping me,” he explains.

Andruil snorts, in what he suspects is amusement, and then after a moment, shrugs and carries on to her own room. Dirthamen can hear his father singing in the master bathroom, as he finally makes his way into his own, and shuts the door so that he can begin changing.

He is careful not to touch his face with his blouse, although after a moment, he realizes that Sylaise seems to have sealed the mask of make-up onto his face with some sort of impenetrable veneer. The skirt fits better than he might have expected, but requires stockings, he thinks, so he goes and puts on a pair of those, and then finds some nice dress shoes that do not seem too out-of-place with it, so far as his comprehension of aesthetic rules can determine. Sylaise had told him to leave his hair long, so he does. But it tends to fall into his eyes, and he still has class work to deal with, so after some consideration, he retrieves a silver hair clip and uses that to solve the dilemma.

By the time Father is calling for everyone to come to breakfast, his outfit seems to have come together. Dirthamen gathers up his school bag, double-checks that he has his homework, and heads for the dining room. He is the first to arrive, and his father double-takes at him as well.

There is an awkward moment of silence as they regard one another.

Then his father gestures to him.

“What’s all this about?” he asks.

Dirthamen blinks.

“Sylaise is helping me,” he says.

His raises his eyebrows.

“With what?” he wonders.

Dirthamen shifts, slightly, and wonders if he should say, or if he should make excuses. He tries to weigh the possible consequences of his father discovering that he has a crush, but he finds the possible reactions difficult to gauge. Father had not taken well to Sylaise and Andruil dating, but then, Dirthamen has rarely been treated in the same manner as his sisters.

“There is a girl at school…” he begins, tentatively.

“Ah,” his father says, and then nods, as if things suddenly make much more sense. “A girl, you say? Is it that little friend of yours? The scrappy one who looks like she crawled out of a rummage sale?”

Dirthamen shakes his head.

“No, it is a different girl,” he explains. Inanallas is a good friend, but Dirthamen does not think she would like to date him. He is not sure he would like to date her, either. After a moment his father grunts, and then reaches over, and claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Well,” he says. “…Well, is she, um… like you, then?”

He considers the question.

“She has very light hair,” he says. “And she likes math. She is a member of the competitive mathematics team at school.”

His father nods.

“Math, eh? Quiet girl?” he guesses.

Dirthamen tilts his head.

“Mostly,” he confirms.

This seems to be an acceptable response, as his father leaves the matter be, and instead focuses on scolding Andruil and Sylaise for taking so long to get to the table, once they finally arrive. Breakfast is hurried this morning, as they are running late, but the chauffeur still manages to get them to school before the first bell rings.

Inan meets Dirthamen at his locker.

She stares at him.

“…What,” she says.

“What?” Dirthamen asks back.

Inan reaches over, and gingerly pokes at his cheek. She looks at her finger, and narrows her eyes, and then pokes at him again.

“Please refrain,” he requests.

“You look like someone photoshopped you,” Inan accuses.

“Sylaise did my make-up,” Dirthamen explains.

Inana squints.

“Is she testing out new techniques or something?”

Dirthamen shakes his head, and then means to elaborate. But the class bell rings, and interrupts him before he can, and so he and Inan have to hasten into the classroom instead.

He receives and inordinate number of looks, throughout the morning. Several people stare at him during class, and in the move to the next one, he notices a few more odd looks which are only diffused when one of his fellow homeroom students walks into a door. Venavismi rushes over to the help the boy, and the subsequent noise and clatter seems to draw most attention for a while.

It is not until first break that Dirthamen gets a chance to approach Selene’s own locker.

She is standing in front of it, caught up in a conversation with Elanna, who is in Dirthamen’s history class, and has loaned him pencils.

He does not wish to intrude. But after a moment Elanna nods towards him, and Selene turns and looks towards him.

There is a moment where Dirthamen attempts to parse the meaning of the look she gives him. She herself looks very nice today, he thinks. The summer shorts she is wearing have flowers embroidered onto the pockets, which almost match the ties in her own hair.

Dirthamen clears his throat.

“Good morning,” he says.

The textbook in Selene’s hands catches on fire.

It is not a  _lot_  of fire, thankfully. Elanna knocks it out of Selene’s hands, and Dirthamen casts a cooling spell, which does not seem to be particularly effective. The fire smolders across the plastic cover of the textbook, warping the print, but does not quite spread to the pages before Selene gestures emphatically and manages to put it out.

Selene does not look at Dirthamen, as she hastily gathers up the mangled textbook, and then turns on her heel and flees.

“…Uh,” Elanna says. “Hang on, sorry, I’m just gonna… go after her. Sorry. Please don’t tell anyone that happened!”

She turns, too, then, and runs off. Dirthamen cannot help but feel as if he has done something wrong, even though he is not certain what. His father sometimes ignites things accidentally when he is very angry. Had he made Selene angry? Does she not like make-up? Or dresses? She has never responded to Dirthamen in that manner before.

He considers it a bit more, but even several reviews of the situation do not yield any satisfactory answers.

Sylaise’s letter, which he was supposed to give to Selene, crinkles in his pocket. Dirthamen reaches in, and pulls it out. He would not wish to cause Selene to light any unintended fires again. Textbooks can be expensive, and he does not think her family is as financially secure as his own. Perhaps he should abandon the plan altogether, but then, Sylaise had worked very hard to help him, and had been very clear in her instructions.

A compromise, perhaps?

He slips the letter into Selene’s locker, and then has to make his way back towards his own, on the other side of the school.

He contemplates washing the make-up off at several points throughout the rest of the day. Inan offers to help him, but in the end, Dirthamen does not think he could remove Sylaise’s sealants with the simple tap water and toilet paper available in the school bathrooms. Selene is in his Math class, towards the end of the day, but she seems to have traded seats with Tasallir, and she spends the entire class not looking at him.

Dirthamen’s heart sinks.

Has he offended her, then?

He wonders over it for the rest of the day, trying to figure out what it might be that he has done wrong, and how he could possibly solve it. Perhaps he should write an apology? Or stay away instead? What would be better appreciated?

By the end of the school day, he is still uncertain.  There is a kind of pleasantness to watching Selene in class, even if she keeps ignoring him. But there is very little, he finds, in trekking across the parking lot, and feeling as if the mask of his make-up is much too thin.

He almost does not hear the voice calling after him.

“Dude,” Inanallas says, poking his elbow. He looks, and she gestures behind them, and then he turns and sees Selene hurrying over towards them. She seems faintly out of breath, her cheeks suffused with colour and her hair coming out of its ties, as she stops in front of him.

“Yes!” she blurts.

Dirthamen blinks.

Oh.

That was the response Sylaise told him to wait for.

He opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Selene runs off again; leaving a few smoking footprints behind, as she races back across the parking lot, and down to where Adannar seems to be carpooling their group of friends today. She does not look back towards him, although Elanna offers him a thumb’s up.

“What just happened?” Inan asks.

Dirthamen must shake his head.

“I am not sure,” he admits. “I will have to ask Sylaise.”

Perhaps he should have read the letter first, for context. But it is too late now.

* * *

“Of course you will have a birthday party!” Dirthamen’s father tells him, and Dirthamen blinks in surprise.

It has been two months since Falon’Din was sent off to military school. He is not coming home for his birthday; Father had been very firm on that, that Falon’Din’s birthday was cancelled as part of his punishment for The Incident. He was going to get a card and some money, but no presents and no party and no visit back home.

“But… you said it was cancelled…” Dirthamen notes, with some bewilderment.

His father looks equally baffled, though. His eyebrows are knit, and he is not doing what he usually does when he is angry - so he is confused, then. Dirthamen shifts on his feet, and seeks to clarify.

“When you sent Falon’Din away… you said our birthday was cancelled.”

The confusion clears from his father’s face. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Shifts for a moment, and then clears his throat. 

He does not shout, so, Dirthamen is not worried yet. Still confused, but not worried.

“ _Falon’Din’s_  birthday was cancelled,” his father tells him. “Just because it happens to be on the same day as yours does not mean that  _your_  birthday is cancelled, too. Of course not! Why would it be? You are not being punished. You can have a party all to yourself, just as your sisters do on their birthdays.”

Dirthamen is not certain what to make of this development.

His birthday?

Without Falon’Din?

But… 

“I do not think anyone would come to the party,” he admits. After all, it was always Falon’Din who gave out invitations, and whose friends filled out their party activities. When they had begun attending elementary school, Dirthamen had attempted to hand out invitations up until third grade. No one ever liked receiving them from him, though. No one he invited actually came, except for one boy during kindergarten, and he had gone home early.

His father frowns.

“Why would no one come?” he asks. “It will be a splendid party! We can have whatever kind you like. What was last year’s? The amusement park? A lot of children came to that!” 

“They were Falon’Din’s friends,” Dirthamen explains. “They do not like me.” Few of them had even talked to Dirthamen, not even to say something cruel, since Falon’Din was sent away.

His father clears his throat.

“Surely  _some_  of them were your friends, too?” he asks.

Dirthamen shakes his head.

“I am not good at making friends,” he says.

Silence stretches between them for a moment. He thinks it might qualify as ‘awkward’, though with his father, he is not always certain. Despite his direct nature, he is a man who is easily misread. By Dirthamen, anyway.

But he is not very sad about the prospect. The amusement park had been deeply unpleasant, anyway. Most of the rides made him sick, and Falon’Din kept getting angry whenever he lost at the midway games.

His father regards him for a moment, and then straightens his shoulders.

“Alright,” he says. “If you are worried that no one will come, then… we will do something that would be fun even without guests. And we will make invitations! You can hand them out to your classmates. What is fun for the children your age? The zoo? Everyone likes the zoo! Even adults are there, the animals are delightful, and it is easy to have fun even if it is just a family outing…”

Dirthamen nods, hesitantly, even though it has been years since he has seen another child his age host a birthday party at a zoo. He likes zoos. Less than museums, but, they are usually spacious, and it is difficult for people to throw him into one of the exhibits without witnesses interfering.

His father nods back, and then reaches out and pats his shoulder.

“Go make invitations,” he instructs. “Make them look fun! Then the other children will come, and you will  _make_  friends.”

Dirthamen turns to go and follow these instructions, before his father halts him again.

Elgar’nan pauses, and then clears his throat.

“Invite the awkward children,” he advises. “You know, the… quiet ones. The ones no one else likes. They will certainly come, if only for the novelty of receiving an invitation.”

“They will?” Dirthamen asks.

His father nods, assuredly.

Well.

Dirthamen supposes it is as good a starting point as any.

* * *

At his father’s encouragement, Dirthamen manages to produce eight invitations to his birthday party. He is not certain if they are ‘fun-looking’ or not - that seems difficult to quantify - but his father seems to think that they are sufficient, and Sylaise only deems them ‘embarrassing’, which Dirthamen has learned is a level of approval below ‘acceptable’, but still above ‘disastrous’. 

He spends much of the morning considering who he will attempt to give the invitations out to. His father’s advice seems… sound. Or at least, more informed than anything Dirthamen can come up with on his own. And children with few social obligations are at least less likely to be gathered into a cluster of activity, which means that Dirthamen does not have to muster himself up for the possibility of group harassment every time he endeavours to approach them.

While the chauffeur is driving them to school, Dirthamen makes a list.

From the information he has available, there are twelve children who qualify as ‘rarely spoken to’, and may also be considered ‘awkward’ and/or ‘unpopular’. Two of them are old enough that Dirthamen suspects they fall outside of the realms of acceptable school-based social interactions, particularly where someone like himself is concerned, and so he crosses them out first. Which leaves him with ten candidates.

He supposes he will simply approach the remaining potentials as convenient throughout the day.

The first he encounters is a boy with a locker near to his own. A tall boy, often dressed in hand-me-down clothing, by the name of Victory. Earlier in the year he had been considered somewhat intimidating, but still interesting enough to be approached by other children. Though Falon’Din had decided he was too ‘brutish’, and had only been pleased when rumours began to spread about some kind of criminal background.

Dirthamen had not paid much attention to the specifics. School rumours are notoriously unreliable, and often purely fabricated. But he knows that Victory is not often spoken  _to,_  these days - though still occasionally spoken  _of,_  behind his back.

He blinks at the invitation, when Dirthamen extends it to him.

“I am having a birthday party,” he explains.

Victory reaches over, and very gingerly accepts the card. His eyebrows go up.

“And you’re inviting  _me?”_  he observes. “Is this a joke?”

Dirthamen shakes his head.

“No. I am in earnest,” he promises. “Although there is no obligation. My brother will not be there, so it may not be a very interesting party.”

Victory snorts, and glances at him. And then folds the invitation into his pocket.

“If your brother isn’t there, then maybe I’ll come,” he says.

Dirthamen finds his response odd, but, he is not certain if that is because he has misunderstood. He nods, anyway, and then he must retrieve several items from his locker before the first bell rings, and that absorbs much of his attention.

The second invitation he gives out in his first class of the day. Dirthamen stares at the back of Selene’s head, from where she sits in front of him, answering many of the teacher’s questions about their algebra homework. He considers, very briefly, giving her an invitation. But she does not meet his father’s criteria - her best friend is Des, Dirthamen knows, who is extremely gregarious, and they often also spend time with Aelynthi and Thenvunin, and other people who he does not recollect the names of.

She would probably say no.

He lets himself wish he would give her an invitation, and that she would say ‘yes’, though, for a significant portion of class, until he must attempt to focus on the lesson instead. Once the class is done, he crosses the room, instead, and hands an invitation to the slightly ill-kempt student who tends to sit at the back, reading books that are not on the curriculum and sometimes endures the random vandalization of her belongings.

“What’s this?” she asks, when he gives her the invitation.

“I am having a birthday party,” he explains.

“So you’re… giving out little cards about it?” Inanallas wonders, further, flipping the piece of cardstock over to observe the back. “Did you draw the bear in the colourful hat?”

“I did,” Dirthamen confirms. “The party is at the zoo. This is an invitation. You are welcome to attend, if you would like.”

Inanallas pauses, and seems slightly flustered for a moment.

“…Oh,” she eventually concludes. Then she reaches over, and bops a fist against his shoulder. Too gently to be considered a legitimate attempt at assault. Based on the available evidence, Dirthamen thinks she is endeavouring to be ‘friendly’.

He reaches over and awkwardly pats at her arm.

She makes finger guns at him.

“Neat. Thanks,” she says.

Dirthamen is uncertain if that is confirmation on her intention of attending, but the invitation has an RSVP request, so he supposes Inanallas can make that decision at her own leisure.

He nods, and then leaves the classroom. His timing is apt, as he steps out into the hall and nearly bumps into another one of the people on his list - a short Dalish girl, with braided red hair and yet more hand-me-down clothing, who he knows primarily for her reputation as the target of a particularly baffling bullying campaign on the part of the men’s lacrosse team. Elanna. He thinks she might have a boyfriend, in fact, but as those are unsubstantiated rumours, his bigger concern for her qualifications is that sometimes he has seen her talking to Selene.

They may possibly be friends.

Dirthamen hesitates, and thinks that, perhaps, she should not qualify. But he also stops in front of her, and she blinks up at him, and he runs out of time for questioning his motives in deciding to invite her anyway.

Instead, he extends one of his stock of cards towards her.

She takes it from him, and tilts her head.

“A birthday party?” she asks.

Dirthamen nods in confirmation.

“You may bring a ‘plus one’, if desired,” he tells her.

Elanna looks mildly confused.

“But… we barely talk…” she observes.

Dirthamen nods, again, and does not name the twinge of disappointment he feels. That does not seem like a very positive response.

“You do not have to attend,” he assures her.

She shakes her head a little, and looks at the invitation again. And then shrugs.

“It could be fun,” she decides, and offers him a smile. Which is much more promising.

Dirthamen nods, and then parts ways with her, as he has another class he must get to. The morning has only just begun, and he has already delivered three invitations. Their reception so far is oddly encouraging. He is not accustomed to his father’s advice working out in his favour, and so there is also some novelty to it as well.

He does not think he might be looking forward to a birthday without Falon’Din. That would be too cruel a thought for him to entertain. But even though he does not think it, some small part of him still knows it, and by lunch, the encouraging feelings have become mingled with a strange sort of guilt.

Lunch time is the best time to find people to give the remaining invitations to, however, and so Dirthamen endeavours to do that, and put his conflicted feelings from his mind. He gives an invitation to a student whose name he does not know, but who is on his list as ‘detention youth’, and is - as usual - found just outside of the principal’s office. And he gives his next invitation to the small Dalish girl who likes to sit on the school roof - mostly by way of using a spell to launch it up to her. Aili, he thinks her name is.

Five invitations down, he passes by Glory and their flock of admirers, and pauses for a moment at the sight of Glory’s younger sibling, trailing behind the group in a manner not unlike the one which Dirthamen had employed, before Falon’Din was sent away.

He reaches over, and hands Uthvir an invitation.

They raise an eyebrow at him.

“You want me to give it to Glory?” they guess.

Dirthamen shakes his head. Falon’Din had only just begun to take notice of Glory, before he was sent away. He probably would have invited them to his party. He would have wanted their flock of friends to become his, he had not liked that someone outside of his influence was so popular. But Falon’Din is not here, and Glory does not meet his father’s guidelines by any stretch of the imagination.

“That is for you,” he says, instead.

Uthvir lets out a breath, and looks at the card stock. They tap a finger against the text that says ‘plus ones permitted, please RSVP (’RSVP’ stands for ‘répondez s'il vous plaît’, meaning “Reply if you please”, and is meant to indicate that prior notice of attendance is requested)’, and then they look at him again.

“I won’t bring Glory, if that’s what you’re thinking,” they say. “It’s a good plan, to think that I would be flattered and go and then bring them, but if you don’t want me coming all by my lonesome self, you had better just firm up and give it straight to them. They won’t make fun of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

They move to hand the invitation back.

Dirthamen shakes his head.

“No, that was not my plan,” he explains. “Glory does not meet the criteria for an invitation. They are much too popular. I am only inviting awkward students who are not socially active.”

Uthvir’s other eyebrow goes up.

Dirthamen nods at the invitation.

“Attendance is not required,” he assures them, before making his way down the hall again.

Unfortunately, though, the remaining persons on his list prove too elusive for him to track down before the lunch hour is finished. He makes some further efforts at finding them between classes, but in the end, he can only shove the remaining invitations into their lockers at the end of the day, and hope that they discover them and receive them well in the morning.

His father is waiting to pick himself and his sisters up, after school.

“Well?” he asks, as Dirthamen buckles himself into the backseat, next to Sylaise. Andruil stole the front again. “How did it go?”

Dirthamen supposes he is referring to the invitations. He considers the matter, for a moment.

“I handed them out,” he admits. “Most of them in person. I think… perhaps someone will come?”

His father smiles approvingly, and then clears his throat.

“I am certain they all will!” he declares, and then sets about asking Andruil and Sylaise about their own days. Dirthamen watches the road go by through his window, and wonders if that will prove true. He would not think so, but… his father seems to know about birthday parties. And today his advice had been nearly as good as his mother’s.

The pang of grief at that thought keeps him quiet for the rest of the ride home.

* * *

Dirthamen hesitates in the backseat of the car.

His father had decided to drive him to his birthday party himself. Sylaise and Andruil had both decided not to attend, in favour of going to play with their own friends for the day. Dirthamen sits in the front seat, and stares out at the sign for the zoo. Finding parking had been somewhat challenging, but with only minimal grumbling, his father had decided to use the paid parking that was closer to the building. Dirthamen cannot see any animals from here, but he  _can_  see the sign. Just past the sign that says ‘paid parking’.

“Come, now,” his father says. “We won’t want to leave your little friends waiting!”

Dirthamen nods, but his hand stalls on the clasp for his seatbelt. They are early; his father had said it was important to get there a little early, to make sure that everything was in order for the party, and be there to meet with Dirthamen’s guests. If any of them do decide to come. Several had RSVP’d, but they might still change their minds.

Dirthamen wonders what his brother is doing. He had not sounded very happy, in their phone call this morning.

He had cried.

And now Dirthamen feels guilty, because he is having a party, and Falon’Din is not here. Falon’Din is crying, in boarding school, and he thinks that Dirthamen is a traitor, and that their father is horrible. He thinks Dirthamen is glad that he is gone, and maybe some small part of him  _is._

Maybe – increasingly – it is not even that small.

Dirthamen feels like even more of a traitor.

His father sighs, and gets out of the car. He comes around, and opens Dirthamen’s door; undoes his seatbelt, and tugs him onto the concrete of the parking lot. Closing the car door firmly behind him.

“You are getting too big to be carted around. That is the point of birthdays! You are fourteen now,” his father says, patting his shoulders. “You must learn to move yourself! There are things to be done. It will be a fun day, you will see!”

DIrthamen can only manage to nod, his brow furrowing. If he has fun, does that make him even more of a traitor? Or would it make him a bad host, if he did not? Sylaise had said that it would be up to him to be a good host. She seemed to know a lot about it. Only, Dirthamen has never been in charge of anything like this before. He tried to do research, but it had not been very fruitful. And he had attempted to dress respectably, but Sylaise had only had time to deem his efforts a ‘hopeless disaster’ before it was time for them to go.

Dirthamen straightens his bowtie, and follows his father across the parking lot.

The zoo is busy today. Well, it’s the weekend, so Dirthamen supposes that makes sense. There are a lot of families with younger children, and it looks like someone else is having a birthday, too, with balloon animals and a cotton candy machine and popcorn. It takes Dirthamen a full minute to realize that his father is leading him straight to that part of the park, and that even though a number of children seem very interested in the area, they are all being shoo’d or tugged away by their parents.

His eyes fall on a sign, near to an exhibit with some long-legged storks in it.

‘Happy Birthday Dirthamen’.

… _Oh._

“This is for me?” he asks, blinking.

“Of course!” his father says. “I arranged it with the zoo! A woman is coming to make balloon animals, and another will do face painting. Animals are interesting, but it is hardly a birthday party without face painting!”

He seems very pleased about it. Falon’Din had gotten over balloon animals and face painting when they were nine, but Dirthamen supposes that he himself never had any particular dislike for them. Sometimes face painting is uncomfortable, while it’s happening, but he generally likes the results. And the whole little square of the zoo looks very festive, he thinks.

There is no one else there, though.

He nearly asks his father, again, if he thinks anyone will come. But he manages to stop himself. His father’s answer is always the same, and Dirthamen does not think he will really know for certain until either someone  _does_  come, or the party ends and no one else has.

At least, he thinks, glancing around, if no one comes… maybe he can let some of the people who are already here have popcorn and cotton candy? And he can  _imagine_  that they are attending his birthday party?

That might not be so bad…

He is still considering things when his father thrusts a ball of popcorn, covered in sugary food-colouring, into his hands.

“Here,” he says. “Go snack on this, and look at some of the animals while we wait for your guests. But do not wander far!”

Dirthamen nods, and begins to pick pieces of popcorn off of the treat, as he wanders towards the enclosure full of cranes. They are very beautiful birds, and easy enough to enjoy observing. Several of them seem to dislike his birthday sign, though. He watches as they flap their wings and glare archly at it, and notices some of the intricacies of their enclosure. It is very well-made, he thinks.

As he is wondering what type of stones were used to line one of the simulated streams, his father bellows for him; loud enough that somewhere in the zoo, a lion roars back.

“Dirthamen! Come and greet your guests!”

Dirthamen stills for a moment, surprised enough that he cannot help it, before venturing back towards the little square where the party has been set up. His father is standing next to an unfamiliar man, who is wearing a somewhat uncertain expression, and has vallaslin on his face. Ana, from school, is standing next to him, holding a small parcel covered in shiny blue wrapping paper.

When she sees Dirthamen, she smiles.

“Happy birthday!” she greets. “Your Papae says we’re the first guests. This is my Uncle Varvin, he helped me pick your present!”

Dirthamen accepts the offered gift, and manages a smile of his own.

“Thank you for coming,” he says, remembering his manners. “You didn’t have to bring a gift…”

Ana blinks at him.

“But… it’s a birthday party…” she says.

“Oh, I know! But it would have been enough to just come. I would have mentioned on the invitation if a gift was mandatory… perhaps I should have said that it was optional… I appreciate it very much, though!”

His father sighs, and gets an expression that lets Dirthamen know that he is behaving oddly again. Ana just smiles, though, and tells him that she hopes he likes it. At his father’s direction, Dirthamen places the gift on a table that is near to the cotton candy machine. There are several already on there, he realizes. Presents from his father, and from Andruil and Sylaise, according to the tags. Though he suspects his father simply picked the gifts out and put their names onto them. Mother used to do that…

Dirthamen swallows, and tries not to think of it. This is the first birthday where his mother will not be…

“Are you alright?”

Catching himself, he turns, and finds Ana looking at him. He swallows.

“I am not unwell,” he says. “Thank you for coming.”

After a moment, Ana shrugs.

“Thank you for inviting me! I like animals,” she assures him.

“Would you… like to go and look are the cranes?” he suggests, tentatively.

“Sure!” Ana agrees, and after only one more awkward moment, they walk off to do that. After a few minutes, the hard knot of grief that had stolen away Dirthamen’s breath begins to ease. Ana does not say very much – but then, neither does he. They end up simply watching the birds again, for a few minutes, until his father bellows for him again.

More guests!

The second group to arrive has Victory and Uthvir, who have both come without adults  _or_  ‘plus ones’. They both have presents, though, and Dirthamen is certain now that he should have mentioned that they are optional – but he only thanks them for the gifts, this time, mindful of his father’s look, and carries them over to the present table. Victory’s is wrapped in newspaper.

“Sorry. I couldn’t get paper…” he says, and Dirthamen thinks he might be embarrassed.

“I like it,” he says, truthfully. “It makes me think of arts and crafts. Newspaper is very versatile.”

“It is!” Victory agrees. “And the paper always gets torn off anyway. The most important thing is that it’s a surprise, right?”

“That’s usually what people are going for,” Uthvir agrees. Their own parcel is wrapped in shiny black paper, and has a scarlet bow on the top. It is an odd shape. Dirthamen finds himself actually curious about what it could be; but then his father calls for him again. They have hit the actual hour for the party to begin.

Aili is the next to arrive, skipping along in a pair of denim overalls, with a stern-looking woman who introduces herself as her Mamae. Aili’s gift is in a green bag with tissue paper on top, rather than being wrapped. Dirthamen positions it carefully among the presents, and then blinks when she tugs him over to the large zoo map near to their pavilion.

“Do you know what kinds of animals are at this zoo?” she asks. “Do they have halla? I think that’s illegal to keep them in a zoo, isn’t it? But Mamae says sometimes zoos do it anyway, and if they have halla we should find out. Have you been here before? I haven’t, I didn’t even know there  _was_  a zoo here!”

Dirthamen blinks.

“I did not research the zoo very much,” he admits. He was more concerned with the hospitality side of the issue. The zoo had its own staff and regulations; Dirthamen would only have limited control over them.

Aili just shrugs, and then smiles and waves to Ana, who waves back.

It seems to be some kind of signal, then, as all the young party guests decide to congregate at the zoo map. Victory has obtained a bag of popcorn, and is eating it heartily, while Uthvir shoots sideline looks at the cotton candy machine, and shuffles from foot to foot. They are wearing a lot of belts. Dirthamen wonders why they need so many.

But then his attention is taken up by the zoo map. The enclosures are marked with little animal outlines, and comic sans titles, like ‘Monkey Mayhem’ and ‘Lion Kingdom’ and ‘Reptile’s Retreat’.

“Grazer’s Grove,” Aili says, tracing her finger down over to a key at the side of the map, which lists the types of animals in each section. “Ooh! Harts!”

Uthvir frowns.

“Aren’t harts domesticated?” they say. “I thought this was a ‘wild animal’ zoo, not a ‘farm animal’ zoo.”

“Only  _some_  kinds of harts are domesticated,” Aili tells them, with the assuredness of someone who has spent a lot of time reading books about animals.

Dirthamen considers the sign.

“Would you like to go look?” he suggests.

“Aren’t more people coming?” Ana wonders.

Pulling out his phone, Dirthamen checks the time. Anyone arriving now would technically be late, but only by a few minutes.

“I can wait here, and you can take an adult and go see the exhibit,” he suggests.

“No! It’s your birthday!” Aili counters, and Dirthamen does not quite understand what that has to do with anything. His father arrives then, though, and explains that there is going to be a tour guide, and that they should arrive in half an hour; everyone will be able to see all the exhibits they like, then, and in the meantime, the balloon animal and face-painting technicians have arrived.

“Balloon animals and face painting?” Uthvir says, as they make their way back to the pavilion. “Isn’t that little kid stuff?” They shove their hands in their pockets. A lock of dyed-red hair falls into their face, as they slouch their shoulders somewhat. Dirthamen is not certain that it has the intended effect on them, given how short they are.

“Is it not fun?” he wonders, uncertainly.

“It sounds fun to me!” Victory declares, smiling. And the girls agree, and after a moment, even Uthvir only shrugs.

They do the balloon animals first. While the woman – who is dressed very colourfully, and knows a lot of puns – makes Dirthamen an octopus, the last guest destined to attend the party arrives; heralded by the smacking of bare feet on the flat zoo paving, dressed in an over-sized sweatshirt with a printed picture of a wolf on it. A box wrapped in confetti paper is tucked under one of her arms.

“We’re here!” Inanallas announces.

There is a momentary pause, as everyone seems to be thinking the same question.

“Did you bring someone else…?” Dirthamen asks.

Inan’s face pales, and she whips around, suddenly looking alarmed.

“Nehn?!” she calls.

But a moment later, an older boy appears, jogging along up the path.

“I’m here, I’m here!” he says. “You just outpaced me, Inzo.” Reaching over, he gently ruffles Inan’s hair, and then turns as Dirthamen’s father begins to boom greetings.

Inan hesitates, glancing towards them, and then ‘Nehn’, before Dirthamen recollects his duties, and gets up and goes to greet her. She swallows, and dumps the wrapped box into his arms.

“I hope you like it!” she says, glancing towards the table. “Um, was I supposed to put it over there? I’m sorry we’re late! We got held up in traffic.”

Dirthamen nods in understanding.

“You’re not too late,” he asserts. “Thank you for the present. I can put it with the rest. Do you like balloon animals…?”

Inan giggles, nervously, and then nods. Fidgeting with her sleeves for a moment. Dirthamen puts the present onto the table, and walks with her back to the balloon animal technician, who has finished his octopus by then. It is only as he is accepting it that he realizes it is a hat.

Carefully, he puts it onto his head. The octopus dangles in front of his face, but does not overly impede his vision.

Some of the others laugh, but not meanly.

The balloon animal technician points at Victory.

“Alright, my man, what kind do you want?” she asks.

Victory considers it for a moment.

“A mabari?” he suggests.

“Hot dog! That’s an easy one,” the woman enthuses, and begins shaping a hat for him, too. By the time the tour guide arrives, they have all gotten balloon animal hats. Only Uthvir doesn’t want to wear theirs; they hold their chicken – the technician had not been able to make their requested shark, or hawk – in one hand, and decline to get their face painted. Dirthamen does not like the smell of the paints, and ends up declining, too, but Aili gets rainbows on her cheeks, and Inan gets a large eye on her forehead, and Ana and Victory both get their faces done up like a tiger and a lion, respectively.

No one cries or throws up or hits anyone. Dirthamen thinks this is the longest he has ever had a birthday go without someone screaming.

They take cones full of cotton candy along with them as the tour guide has them set out, then. The man is human, and very burly, and incredibly enthusiastic, too. Most of the information he gives them is written on the plaques outside of the exhibits, but it is more interesting to just look at most of the animals, anyway. Not all of them wish to venture out of the hides in their enclosures. Dirthamen finds he keeps expecting someone to complain, and throw a fit, and try to do something like throw rocks at the glass or yell at the animals.

But no one does. His guests all just peer around, and the worst thing that happens is that Aili and Ana lean against some railing, and their guide gently informs them that it’s not good for the railing so they should try not to touch it. They move back.

No one threatens anyone. The adults mill around the pavilion; Ana’s uncle leaves, promising to come back when the party is done, and after a while, Aili’s mother does the same. Inan’s… brother? Older person stays, munching on popcorn and occasionally trailing after the tour group, but there are no frantic parents, and no one tries to feed anyone to the crocodiles, either.

They just look at the animals and talk about them, and Dirthamen finds out that Aili likes to read books, and Inan likes to watch silly television shows. That Victory likes big animals and wishes he could pet a lion, and that Uthvir pretends not to like very many things, but always watches in fascination when the animals are being fed. That Ana leaves out food for the stray cats in her neighbourhood, and that almost none of them have ever been to a party like this.

Except for Uthvir, who insists that they just haven’t been to a party like this since they were  _ten._

“I guess it’s still got something to be said for it, though,” they concede, at Dirthamen’s worried look.

When the tour finishes, they have lunch, then. Hot dogs and hamburgers and veggie plates, and cookies shaped like zoo animals. Dirthamen opens his presents, only slightly nervous under the expectant gaze of his audience. Normally, this is Falon’Din’s job. But he does not know how to subject gifts to the kind of scrutiny that his brother would. And in fact, he finds he likes most everything he gets. His father got him a new phone, and his sisters both got him shirts. Aili got him a book about a boy detective, and Ana got him soaps that smell very nice. Victory’s present is a packet of blue pens, which are very useful, and Uthvir’s oddly-shaped package ends up being several taped-together packets of modelling clay. And Inan got him a modelling kit for reconstructing dinosaur skeletons, which might be his favourite – though he is aware that picking favourites is socially unacceptable.

“Thank you very much,” Dirthamen concludes, when the last of the wrapping paper has been tossed into the bin. He will have to write ‘thank you’ notes.

The party ends not long after that. Dirthamen finds himself waiting, up until the very last minute, for something to go wrong. For someone to scream or cry or shed blood, throw a punch, or a fit, break something, or hassle the zoo staff, or try to climb into an animal’s enclosure. Yell at him, or tell him that this whole party was a disaster. But none of it happens. His father insists on driving Uthvir and Victory back to their homes; Uthvir lives in not too far from where Dirthamen himself does, but Victory is on the other side of the school district line, and his house is very small. And Dirthamen does not think he actually lives there, given that he sees the other boy head back up the walkway as they drive off, and keep going down the sidewalk. But then, he knows, sometimes it is unsafe for strange adults to know where young people live; and Dirthamen’s father can be very strange, at times.

It is only once they are home, and Dirthamen has carried his presents to his room, that it finally sinks in.

His party was… a success?

Nothing bad happened?

It was… nice.

“Hey, nerd,” Andruil greets, passing by his open door. She reaches out, and squeezes his octopus hat until it pops; and then laughs at his flinch. “Did you and the Lame Brigade have fun watching animals poop?”

It is almost reassuring, Dirthamen thinks, as he pulls the tattered pieces of balloon rubber off of his shoulders. The day had almost been  _too_  quiet.

“Yes, we did,” he says, though, and he cannot help but smile.

Andruil snorts at him.

“I can’t believe you had your fourteenth birthday party at a  _zoo,”_  she says.

Dirthamen cannot believe it either.

Though, perhaps, for different reasons.

* * *

Des manages to win the right to pick out the group costume for the year, drawing the blue tipped straw as Selenes mother holds them out in a closed fist. Melanadahl and Selene both groan, reluctant to do a third year in a row of ‘sexy cats because its a fool proof classic’.  They voice their concerns, and Des agrees that they need a new thing.

Selenes concern over Des’s immediate agreement shows on her face, as he holds up his hands in a placating manner. “I’m just saying,” he explains “maybe we should do one of your nerd things this year instead.”

They end up agreeing on an old mythological pantheon (which Melanadahl and Selene both point out is not a ‘nerd thing’ but Des pointedly ignores them). Des dresses in a deep purple robe with golden trim and matching laurels on his head, drinking cranberry juice from a plastic wine glass all night. Melanadahl wears a white robe similar to Des’s, with a matching gold trim and a plastic lightning bolt in his grip throughout the evening, and several temporarily tattooed over his head. Selene agrees to a pale pink robe, with a colorful flower crown over her braid and a plastic pomegranate Des InSISTS is vital to the costume.

Its not until Dirthamen shows up, dressed in a solid black, hooded robe and carrying a scythe she realizes what he was trying to accomplish.

“Nooooo,” Des groans, approaching Dirthamen who is hiding near the hallway. “You were supposed to come as HADES.”

“You said I should dress as Death,” Dirthamen frowns. “The worker at the store was quite clear that this is the classic acceptable costume.”

“I said the GOD of Death, not the grim reaper. Why would the grim reaper kidnap Persephone?”

Selene decides this is a good time to step in, before Des accidentally worries Dirthamen away from the party as a whole. “I think your costume is great, Dirthamen.” She interjects. “Des just isn’t as clever as he thinks he is.”

Dirthamen visibly swallows as Selene comes into view, eyes sweeping over the flowers in her hair, the glittery eye-shadow her mother had done for her, and the way her legs peeked out from the sides of her costume. “Your costume is also…very nice.” He manages.

“Thank you,” she smiles, fighting down a blush. “Would you like to get some punch?”

He swallows again, nodding as he carefully lowers the scythe to his side to avoid knocking it against the arch in the hallway, following her back out towards the refreshment table.

Des taps three times on the tip of his chin. 

“Maybe I should have made him dress as Persephone instead…”


	6. Modern Wrist AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where your soulmates name is on one wrist, and your enemies name is on the other, and theres no way to tell which is which.  
> Warning for character death.

“It is just a coincidence,” her Keeper had assured her parents. “The Gods are dead, or sleeping. They are not coming for your daughter.”

That is what she had told them when Selene was born.

The Gods are not coming for your daughter.

 

When she is older, and her first Arlathvhen has passed with no one who matches or has her name appearing, she asks her Keeper about it again. “Perhaps they are members of a more liberal clan, less prone to putting weight in the old stories and traditions” she tells her “Or city elves, attempting to reclaim their culture.”

‘Less prone to superstitions, perhaps,’ Selene thinks bitterly as she is passed over for the role of First and it is given to her cousin, instead. He needs it more, his names are  _Tevene_ , you would not want your cousin put in danger like that would you Selene? And she would not. She would keep Alaris safe no matter what it took, really. Even if it means keeping him locked into the clan life to avoid losing him, even if it means that they are daring the Tevenes to come to  _them_  if they want to take him.

The Gods are Not Coming.

 

She heals when she is home, working side by side in silence with her father. Smiles at every worn out joke someone makes about a healer wearing the name of the God of the Dead, and isn’t that ironic, or isn’t it a bad omen, or shouldn’t she only be dealing with the terminal cases perhaps? But Selene tries to be polite, jokes that her skills are meant to ward him off, that her other name whispers to her at night the secrets to potions and spells and tells her how to avoid Fear and Deceit when they are scouring the world in their search for him. It becomes a running joke, people gifting her pelts of bears, feathers found near owl and raven nests, in reverence to her ‘soulmates’, and she keeps them locked away in the chest beneath her bed and assures herself as the collections increase that her growing connection with the fade is a product of her magic flourishing, and not a result of her silent taunts of fate.

The Gods Are Not Coming, after all.

 

Selene grows, and learns, and focuses on the people in front of her rather than searching for those who may never appear. She journeys into the cities with Haleir, and makes mistakes, and tries to move past them.

When her father passes, she chooses to stay and take his place.

It is not what she wanted from her life. It is not a path she would have chosen for herself if she had thought there were other options. But it is good for her clan, and it is good for Alaris, and that is enough, she supposes.

 

She is sleeping more, now.

Her dreams are becoming more vivid, and perhaps she should discuss that with her Keeper, but she feels no danger from it. No demons in sight, no spirits, nothing but the Fade as she wanders closer to the voices. Shifting landscapes of mountains and deserts, oceans and forests. A volcano, sometimes.

And one night she even stumbles upon a cave.

Although she’s not sure cave is the right word for it. More like a hole carved into the side of a floating mountain with elaborately decorative bars of marble and amethyst.

She easily slides through the spaces between.

Her first thought is how chillingly cold it is. Especially for the Fade, where things are illusions, and should not affect her in such a way. Her wrists burn at her sides though, and her steps falter while her heart thumps in her chest.

Perhaps…Perhaps this is very old, potent magic, then.

Perhaps she should turn back.

 

Selene steps forward, into the darkness of the cave. She summons a wisp, small and purple and glowing above her head as it lights the few yards ahead of her.

For a long time, she finds nothing. Only light bouncing off stalactites and rock formations in the otherwise suffocating darkness and the steady sound of water dripping.

 

And then there are scales.

 

Beautifully bright, even in the darkness of the cave. Her wisps light trails around the form, reaching higher and higher and higher until Selene can see the full, slumbering form of the golden dragon above a lake of still black water.

Selenes breath catches in her throat, as her heart thumps three times in her chest.

_Run_ , whispers a voice in the back of her head.

But her feet are frozen, her Keepers words playing in her head.

_The Gods are dead, or sleeping. The Gods are dead, or sleeping. The Gods are dead._

_Or sleeping._

Selene realizes that her Keeper was right. The Gods were never coming for her.

She has gone to them.

 

 

One long, wide eye peels open, a golden iris staring back at her, large enough that she can see her full reflection in it before it raises its head higher and higher and higher, eyes never straying from her form. Skin peels away from teeth in a terrifying semblance of a grin, and her mind is too caught up in the teeth, still red and blood stained after so long a slumber that she forgets to mind the claws.

Long sharp talons dig into her side, push her down and down into the darkness of the water. 

Selene startles. 

She fights, resists, tries to fire off her magic at it, tries to get away. But it slams her into the side of the pool, and any air she had left leaves her in a rush. Her head becomes heavy, blurry spots of gold shining down at her through the darkness of the water as it envelops her, pulls her down, deeper and deeper and deeper.

The last thing she feels is talons in her side and feathers at her back, as consciousness finally leaves her.

* * *

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

 

Selene wakes with an ache in her abdomen. A twisting, burning pain that seizes all of her attention and wrenches a deafening scream from her throat before a claw covers her mouth and urges her back to unconsciousness.

 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

 

The next time she wakes, her throat is raw, ragged, and breathing is harder than she remembers. Great heaving gasps wrack her body as she tries and fails to fill her lungs. She is drowning, she is drowning again, over and over and over while she scrapes through scales, trying to pull and pull and pull. Lift, just lift, get above the water, you have to, you  _have_  to or you are going to die.

Again.

Something whispers forgotten words in her ear, and drags her back into the dark.

 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

 

When she rises next, she doesn’t feel any pain at all. No wound in her stomach, no fire in her lungs, no knee injury from when she was a child with too long limbs.

It’s both liberating, and deeply worrisome.

 

“You are awake,” Whispers the darkness.

 

Selene scrambles to find her footing, tries to get her bearings, but finds no solid ground anywhere around her. Only scales, and feathers, and darkness. She manages to grab a handful of feathers in one fist, and feels a large wing flutter against her knuckles until she relaxes her grip.

  
“How do you feel?” it asks again, and this time Selene feels the vibrations of the voice all the way down to where her hand meets its wing.

 

Selene hesitates, still trying to recollect what has happened, how she has arrived here, what could be going on. Another bunch of feathers nudges gently at her arm, prodding her to speak.

 

“…Dazed.” she manages.

 

Something scaled wraps around her ankle, and reflexively she tries to kick it away, only to find it carefully pressing against her skin, inspecting it.

 

“You are not in pain?” checks the voice. Deep and soft, closer now.

 

“None that I can feel,” Selene acknowledges. “Although sometimes other complications can keep pain signals from being accurately interpreted by the brain, so it is hard to know for sure.”

 

“Do you believe that is what is happening to you?”

 

“I…don’t think I know what is happening right now,” she admits, her mind finally catching up to the situation. “Where am I? What is going on? What happened to the Dragon, and who  _are_  you?”

 

“You are in the Dreaming-Or the Fade, I believe it is referred to now. You were killed, and I have done my best to rectify the situation. That Dragon is still where he was before, above the surface of the water,” the voice answers promptly.

 

“And who are you?” She repeats.

 

The darkness shifts around her, reflections of light bouncing off of now moving scales as an elongated neck circles her until their eyes meet through the guise of a mask.

“I am Dirthamen.”

 

“No you’re not.” Selene responds reflexively.

 

The head tilts, twice. “I am not?”

 

“Of course not. Dirthamen’s not-he’s not  _real_. He is a myth, like Falon'din, or Sylaise, or-or any of the creators. A pantheon to explain the phenomena around us, stories to tell and pass on, figures forged from an expanding culture. Not-not  _people_.”

 

“That is a very curious opinion for one who has been killed at the hand of a so-called myth to hold. What do you consider to constitute ‘real’, or ‘people’ then?”

 

“Actual,  _physical_ -someone I can see. Someone I can touch, or-or smell, or hear.”

 

The coil around her foot tightens slightly, the feathers in her hand ruffling again “Do you not feel me, holding you? Can you not hear me, in this conversation?”

 

“I-well, yes, I suppose so, but that doesn’t make you…”she trails off, feeling the heavy pang of a knot buried deep in her stomach as she finishes with a barely whispered “You can’t be him.”

 

“All evidence I have gathered up to this point in my existence says your claim is incorrect, I am sorry to say.”

 

“That’s…” Selene buries her head in her hands “You can’t be _him_.”

“Do you wish I were someone else?”

“I wish-…wait, did you say I was killed?”

“That is correct.”

“How am I here, if I was killed?”

 

This time, it is Dirthamen who hesitates, neck pulling back from her slightly as his eyes shift downwards. “I saved what I could.”

 

“What…what does that mean?”

 

“Your body was irreparably damaged. My brothers talons are quite poisonous, even here, and it has been so long since I was near a mortal, I…miscalculated the effects of being pulled beneath water on a creature that still breathes-”

 

“You killed me?”

“Technically, you were already on the brink of death before I was able to intervene-”

“ _You killed me._ ”

“Please do not say that so loudly.”

“Oh, because there are  _ **so many**_  people here to hear me!” Selene hisses.

 

“I tried to save you. I  _have_  saved you, to the best of my abilities.”

“If you are a God, as you claim, you should’ve done more!” She snaps.

 

There is silence for a moment, before Dirthamen slowly unravels himself from Selene. Feathers slip from between her fingers, and his tail slinks away from her leg. “I never claimed to be a God, nor did I want to be,” he whispers. “I am sorry for the distress I have caused you. I am…not good with people.”

 

Selene frowns, and rubs at the marks left on her ankle.

Marks on her ankle.

How…

“If I am dead, how am I…”

 

“Your old body was in ruins. I have fit you with a new one.”

 

Selene swallows.

A new body.

Entirely new.

Untouched by her husband.

“I see.”

 

“I tried my best to get your details correct. If something is uncomfortable, or inaccurate, I can make adjustments as you choose. I would like to make you comfortable here.”

 

“You say that as though I can’t leave.”

 

His response is nothing but silence, and his eyes lifting to meet with hers once more.

 

“I’m-I’m  _trapped_  here?”

“You are free to roam in this domain as you choose,” Dirthamen evades “I can create whatever sort of scenery or landscapes you may think of. An endless variety for you to explore.”

 

“But I can’t leave.”

 

“…No.”

 

“Why?” Selene pleads.

 

“You are technically dead. That puts you within my brothers possession. If he finds out I have kept you here instead, he will see it as an act of aggression, and betrayal. There will be punishment for the both of us. I would not wish that on you.”

 

“So I’m…what, a prisoner?”

 

“No,” Dirthamen emphasizes, moving closer instantly, limbs and wings hovering just above her skin. “No, I would not keep you as a prisoner.”

 

“Then what am I?”

 

“…A secret.”

 

Selenes shoulders fall. She can’t leave. She will never see the clan again. Never see her husband again (Not a loss by any means, really) but she will miss Alaris. She will miss the ceremony when he is officially made Keeper.

Who will replace her, she wonders? Will they realize she is dead when she doesn’t wake in the morning?

Does time even pass here the same as she is used to?

Maybe all of this is some awful dream, if she is lucky.

 

“Is there anything I can do to ease this for you?” Dirthamen murmurs from somewhere above her.

 

“I…I could use a place to think. A garden. Please.”

 

A slight nod, and the space around her erupts into color. Bright greens and whites, vines of orange and reds lining tall walls in a labyrinth like arrangement leading to a central, towering gazebo with a single bench and a quiet river running through it.

“When you desire my company again, simply call for me, and I will return to you.” Dirthamen instructs.

 

Selene nods, and takes a step into the garden. She spins on her heel to thank him, for the garden, not the situation, but finds herself alone.

A strange version of the afterlife, to be sure.

* * *

Alaris is the one who finds her body. Sprawled out on the floor, limbs reaching, stretching, as though trying to grab for  _something_.

It haunts him. 

What could she have been reaching for? Why didn’t she call out for him? For anyone?

It doesn’t make sense.

Haleir is upset by the news. Of course he is, he’s her husband, and he loves her, of course. Out of town when she passed, but he helps carry her body to Var Bellanaris all the same.

The curious thing, Alaris thinks, is that no matter how many times they attempt to lay a cedar branch at her grave, it seems to vanish as soon as their back is turned. 

A dark omen, to be sure. They are meant to scatter the birds of Dirthamen, after all, who roam the world in their search for him. 

_Dirthamen._

Alaris misses his next step, almost goes toppling into anothers grave as he is struck cold by the memory of Selenes names.

She can’t have.

The Gods aren’t….they’re not  _active_. They are sleeping, resting, as they have been for millenia. What business could they have possibly had with Selene? How could they have found her?  
What could that mean for the safety of the clan? For his soon to be duty as Keeper?

He swallows, and uses his staff to right himself, eyes raking over the all too Tevene names on his own wrists.

Perhaps…he should ensure the shrines and offerings are all up to date, all the same.


	7. Assassin AU

They’ve spent the last week trailing their target. They’re still not quite sure why so many people are intent on having him killed, but getting paid from eight different sources for one job is too tempting to pass up.

They’ve never been very good at self-restraint.

 

They settle on making the attack tonight, as they watch him stroll into his car and walk away.

20 minutes later, they make their way into his apartment, and wait.

–

 

It’s a nice apartment, Selene thinks as she easily disables the alarm systems.

Maybe she’ll take it for herself, when this is all over. She could use a safe-house in Fereldan’s capital after all, and the windows are already set up to avoid snipers, which means less renovations she’d have to make.

 

’ _Think he’d notice if we took a snack?_ ’ she thinks.

 

’ _Depends on whether you plan on letting him make it to the fridge,_ ’ Des responds.

 

His smirks spreads to her face as she cracks open a soda can and takes a frozen dinner down from his freezer.

 

–

 

The meal is tasteless, and Selene wonders for a moment if such an awful thing is what he would have inadvertently chosen for his final meal.

Well. Perhaps she did him a favor then.

He’s welcome for her sacrifice.

 

They continue wandering around his apartment for a bit longer, still curious about what makes this particular man such a threat to so many people.

The guy keeps his DVDS in a locked case.

 

_‘Everyone’s got their eccentricities’_ Des chimes in ’ _Maybe they’re actually home-brewed porn. Perhaps that’s why everyone wants him dead. He’s got their blackmail sex tapes._ ’

_'People have certainly called in for less,’_  she agrees.

 

They both stop dead and drool a bit when they spy his overly large bed through his opened bedroom door.

’ _Got time for a nap?_ ’ Des inquires as they check their phone.

’ _A short one. Can you make it quick?_ ’

’ _Whatever you want. You know that,_ ’ he grins.

Selene sets an alarm on their phone to go off in an hour, as she strips and climbs into his bed; it is very comfortable. Perhaps she really will claim his apartment when she’s finished.

–

The alarm rings right on time, and they quickly switch it off. Feeling re-energized, they dress back into her leggings and light body armor, and click their utility belt back on. It may be cheesy, but she loves it anyway. Who doesn’t want to feel like a superhero at work? They move into the hall closet when they are finished, and wait for their prey.

–

The front door clicks closed after another 30 minutes, and she watches him move past where they are hiding and into his kitchen. Once he appears sufficiently distracted by the missing contents of his freezer, she shoots out, dagger in hand, and  aims to sever one of his carotid arteries.

 

Unfortunately for them, his reflexes seem to be in order as a magical barrier shoots up and he dashes away.

 

’ _Shit,_ ’ she thinks

 

’ _Want me to take over?_ ’

 

’ _Not yet,_ ’ she replies, following their target towards the living room.

 

He is dialing something on his cell phone, and she sends a small fireball to blow it out of his hand and into the wall. He looks at her then, and seems to freeze. He looks almost cute like that, she thinks.

 

’ _Focus, Sulvuna_ ’ is what she gets in return.

 

She shoots another fireball towards him then, this one much larger, and as he throws his arms up in front of his face, she takes her opening. With a powerful slide forward, she knocks him off balance and onto the floor. They manage to pin him between her thighs as she slides an anti-magic cuff she nabbed off an old templar onto his wrist. Readying her knife once more, she rears it up and-

’ _Wait, hold on,_ ’ Des interrupts.

 

Selene blinks.

’ _Excuse me?_ ’

 

’ _This is the wrong guy,_ ’

 

’ _ **What?’**_

 

’ _Ask if he’s got a brother or something,_ ’

 

Selene huffs, and presses the dagger against his throat; enough to be a threat, but not enough to keep him from speaking.

 

“Do you have a brother?”

 

The man blinks. Blinks again. “Why do you ask?” he evades.

 

“Because a lot of people think he’s an asshole. Do you have a brother? Sister? Unfortunate Doppleganger, maybe?”

 

Dirthamen nods then, but slowly so as to avoid getting injured by the blade still pressing into his neck “I have a twin, in fact, that seems to fit that description.”

 

Selene lets out a heavy sigh then.

 

’ _Your job is to make sure we find our targets,_ ’

 

’ _Hey, I caught it before we killed him, that should count for something,_ ’ Des argues.

 

“Pardon me,” Dirthamen chimes in “Are you still planning on murdering me?”

 

Selene looks down at him for a moment, and debates the merits of killing him as well.

It seems an awful waste of such a pretty face.

 

“Not today,” she allows as she rolls off of him. She extends a hand to help him up as she continues “My apologies. Upon closer inspection, it seems you are not the person I was hired to kill,”

 

“I appreciate the distinction,” he responds, and she’s impressed at the sincerity of the statement.

 

“Yes. Well. Sorry for the trouble then. Your apartment is lovely. It’s weird you have your porn in a locked display case, but otherwise you seem very nice.”

 

“My…? I do not possess any porn,”

Selene resists the urge to poke at the scrunch on his forehead when his eyebrows crease together in confusion.

Des says she should do it anyways, and she promptly tells him that spirits who can’t distinguish one elf from another do not get to have their way.

She can feel him pouting from across the veil.

 

“So..you just keep regular movies in a locked display case?”

 

He nods.

 

“Still weird. Less creepy though. Anything worth protecting in there?”

 

“See for yourself,” he offers and leads her over, unlocking the doors for her.

 

She browses through them, arguing that his 'restored’ blu-ray copies of Star Wars are blasphemous because the only good Yoda is a muppet Yoda, and he agrees and offers to put on an older copy, if she would like to watch it.

 

Well. She supposes her original plans for the night have been shot.

And it’s the first time someone has ordered pizza after she tried to kill them.

It’s a refreshing change of pace.

* * *

 


	8. Bird AU?

There is noise coming from the inside of Selenes apartment.

She plays back her morning, and yes, she turned everything off before she left for work, so it must be an intruder.

Silently, she turns her locks and rearranges her keys into make-shift spikes breaking through the openings between her fingers, summons her mana, prepped for a barrier or a fireball if necessary, and turns the knob.

 

The Princess Bride is playing on her TV, and the largest Raven she has ever seen is perched on her couch.

She blinks.

The bird blinks back.

 

“Oh. Uh…you must be…” she thinks. There’s really only one person it _could_ be for “Dirthamens, I guess?”

It doesn’t respond with words, but it caws and ruffles its feathers just slightly.

Selene puts her bag down and sighs.

What do ravens even _eat?_

–

Everything, it turns out after a quick bout of research.

She grabs the mostly empty bag of birdseed from her pantry, and pours a bit into the old birds dish, placing it on the table.

 

The Raven flits onto the table, and steps in a small circle around the metal bowl. Looks at Selene, and back at the offering.

And promptly kicks it off the table.

 

“Sure. Of course you’re going to be difficult,” she groans.

 

Probably fair, though. It isn’t as though Haleirs Cuckoo had been a walk in the park, and giving her new bird her old birds dish and food was probably not the best way to handle things. Her first relationship had been a brood parasite, pushing other creatures belongings out of their nests and forcing their own in. How fitting for her. And for him.

 

Of course, the Gigantic Bad Omen scraping at her wooden table doesn’t seem like much of an improvement, so far.

 

She cleans up the spilled seed and tosses the rest of the bag, and the bowl into her garbage. She assembles a few pieces of fruits and arranges them into a paper bowl for the Raven, in case they decide to toss it again.

 

It is still etching some strange sort of writing into her coffee table when she returns, and glances back up at her. It preens, evidently proud of its vandalism.

 

With a sigh, she places the bowl on top of the table and plops down on the ground.

It pecks a few small holes in the bowl, and then peeks up at her judgmentally.

 

“I know it’s not fancy. I wasn’t expecting you. I’ll find you a more permanent bowl tomorrow.”

It seems to accept that arrangement as it swallows a raspberry whole.

 

Selene sighs and checks her phone.

No missed messages, or calls.

Maybe he didn’t get one from her, then?

 

She looks back at the bird. Huge, and black, and sleek and apparently satisfied with the fruit. She thinks she read somewhere that a Ravens preferred food is flesh, though.

She’ll have to buy a cooler, too.

* * *

At first, Dirthamen does not realize that the albino raven is following him.

It is not particularly aggressive about getting his attention. Not like his brother’s owl, which will bite him if it feels neglected, and generally only comes by when it requires food or shelter. No, this raven is a beautiful sight, and he watches it for some time. But when his business lunch is done, he gets up, gets in his car, and does not expect it to follow.

He makes it all the way home. Takes off his coat, and sighs as he removes his shoes, and has only just begun to wriggle his toes against the carpet when he hears a polite  _tap-tap_ against his window.

He goes, and looks, and sure enough. It is the beautiful leucistic bird from before.

Blinking, he opens up the window. The raven caws in acknowledgement, and ruffles its feathers, and then swoops straight inside. Making itself immediately at home, finding a suitable perch next to the fireplace, and staring at Dirthamen with what could be an expectant look.

Ah.

Well, there is only one reason for this bird to show up, he supposes. Only one new relationship in his life; tentative as it may be. He closes the window, and spares a hope that this bird will, at least, not spend all night biting him awake and demanding food.


	9. Flowers for Elgar'nan

The apartment is  _huge_. Bigger than most houses Selene has seen. It takes up most of the top floor of the building, and as she steps out of the elevator she’s fairly certain the only other door on the level leads to an office space that belongs to him, anyways.

She clutches her color coded binder closer to her chest.

“It’s just a routine visit,” She reminds herself as she approaches the large and overly ornate wooden doors. “That’s all.”

And it really is. It’s not even her first time being at this apartment, but the last time she had come by she was  _much_  younger. She had chalked most of the ‘looming ceilings’ and 'giant windows’ to the fact that she was, physically, much smaller and therefore mis-remembering proportions.

…Apparently that may not be the case.

  
Carefully, she knocks three times with the bronze lion shaped knocker, and waits for the door to open.

After a moment, it swings back, revealing a differently decorated but still familiar apartment. 

And an unfamiliar elven man standing inside.

 

“Thank you,” She greets, stepping in past him with her binder still tucked beneath her arm.

“It..is no problem,” The man nods back as he closes the front door. 

His eyes are a beautiful shade of blue with just a touch of silver, she notes. Dark hair, and a well tailored suit with a purple tie. A soft square jaw and temptingly pink lips.

’… _Well, that’s new_ ,’ she thinks.

 

‘I’m uh…” She clears her throat, trying to look at something less likely to suck her in than his lips or eyes, and settles for an old trick of staring at the bridge of his nose. “I’m here to see Elgar'nan?”

“He is in his office, taking a call,” The man answers. “Do you have an appointment?”

  
“Yes,” she says, “I made it a few weeks ago. I’m with the orphanage, I’m uh, I’m Selene.”

  
The mans eyes widen slightly. “ _You’re_  Selene?”

“Pretty sure, yeah,” She chuckles. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” He asserts. “I thought…My father has mentioned you quite often. I did not realize you were so young.”

“Oh,” Selene says sheepishly, clutching tighter to her binder. “Yeah, I’ve only been doing this for a couple years. Was supposed to be a temporary thing to save up for school, but then things kept happening one after another, and then of course Anyu retired to Orlais and we were short handed and I just never got around to leaving and now I’m sort of…” she makes a vague gesture “In charge? As much as I can be, I guess. Which is strange, and there is an obscene amount of paperwork involved really which is-”

Selene stops, and shuffles awkwardly on her feet. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just throw that at you. I’m sure you don’t really care. Here I am rambling away at you and I don’t even know your name!”

“My name is Dirthamen Evanuris. And I do not mind the rambling,” He says.

  
Selene blinks.

And only then does it click that he called Elgar'nan  _father._

 

“Oh!” she exclaims, one hand shooting up to cover her mouth while the other pulls the binder up to cover her chest. “You’re-oh, you’re one of his children! You’re older than I thought you’d be.”

This time it is Dirthamen who blinks, slowly.

  
“I mean,” Selene tries to explain “When he talks about you and your siblings, it’s not usually-I mean he talks about like, snowmen and mud pies and tearing off clothes to go streaking through the building. Not…” She gestures to Dirthamen, in his well fit suit and his very professional appearance. “I guess working with kids all day it never occurred to me that the stories were old and you were…grown.”

 

His head tilts slightly as he seems to consider things. “The snowmen and mud pies are indeed old. My brother still occasionally streaks through the building, but I am unsure if he does so purposely.”

 

Selene lets out an undignified snort-laugh, thankful her hand is already covering her mouth as she hears a door behind her click open.

“SELENE!” booms Elgar'nan with open arms “I am glad to see you made it safely! I hope my son is not causing you too much grief in my absence.”

  
“Hello Elgar'nan,” She greets with a polite bow of her head as she turns around “Your son isn’t causing any grief at all. Are you ready for our meeting?”

“Yes! Follow me!” He calls, leading her back towards the same office he just came out of. Selene follows quickly behind, giving Dirthamen a parting wave as he sends her one back.

 

The door closes swiftly behind her with a loud 'thunk’ as the wood settles into place. Selene finds herself staring at it for longer than is necessary.

 

“Is Dirthamen…” she starts.

“Strange? Yes, it is very unfortunate but he is a very competent part of the family business.”

“Oh, no,” Selene frowns. “I mean is he like…” She pauses, feeling the heat rise slightly in her cheeks. “… _seeing_  anyone?”

Elgar'nans eyebrows raise higher than she thinks she has ever seen them, all but disappearing into his hairline. “I do not know,” he admits. “Would you like to breed with him? It is not a part of your hiring contract currently, but I’m sure we could work something out. With your preference for flames and strong bone structure-”

 

Both of Selenes hands shoot up, the binder falling to the floor as she tries to signal Elgar'nan that this is definitely not a route she’s comfortable taking. “Nope, never mind, sorry! Let’s just-I was thinking like, coffee or something, I’m not ready for kids.”

“You work with them on a daily basis.” Elgar'nan points out.

“Yes, meaning I already have plenty enough to look after,” Selene evades, thankful to have an excuse to pull the discussion back to the orphanage. “And let’s talk about them, and your upcoming Wintersend visit, shall we?”

 

–

 

Dirthamen stands in the foyer, staring at the already closed door and pondering the woman on the other side of it.

He had assumed by the way his father had spoken of Selene she was older. Closer to _his_  age, or mothers.

And certainly not nearly as physically attractive as she is.

  
  


White hair curling around her long neck, cut short in length but still full of life and soft curls fighting against the lines of her comb. Dark rectangular glasses covering bright green eyes that glittered when she laughed in a way that made his stomach feel curiously warm. Her arms long beneath the soft cotton of her sweater with the neckline stretched out just a bit too far to have been on purpose.

Where had she said she worked? The orphanage?

Perhaps…he should make a visit sometime.

  
  


And then his mother enters, the reason he had come out to his fathers work apartment in the first place, and it is time to go with her for their lunch.

 

He orders his usual and goes over the numbers and discrepancies with his mother, but finds himself unable to focus. Part of his mind wondering whether Selenes sweater or hair were softer, if he had imagined her staring at his lips and licking her own, and would it be too strange to look her up in their employment database and attempt to contact her?

  
  


“You seem distracted,” Mythal says after a long drink from her wine glass. “Is there something concerning you?”

Dirthamen hesitates, but his mouth seems to move without his permission. “What do you know of Selene?”

 

Mythals eyes narrow slightly. “Which one? The girl at the Orphanage?”

Dirthamen nods.

 

Mythal swirls the dark liquid in her glass and takes another sip before speaking again.

“She was a child at the orphanage once,” She explains. “Never quite managed to find a family, likely due to her difficulty containing her magic. A trait your father found endearing, as she favors fire. He brought her home once when she was barely a teenager and sent her back with a box of Sylaise and Andruils old clothes. Now she runs the place, and coddles the children there. But her financial records are meticulous and honest, so we’ve seen no reason to get rid of her. Why do you ask?”

  
“I ran into her, briefly. At fathers.”

“Ah,” Mythal says. “Yes, Wintersend is coming up. I suppose she wanted to coordinate his usual visit. I wouldn’t fret over her dear; I doubt your paths will cross again.”

 

Dirthamen nods, but does not say anything. He is not sure how to correctly communicate that he would  _like_  to see her again without appearing strange or unpleasant. He wonders if perhaps his brother would be more helpful on the subject. Then again, his last few attempts had been met with little success and a great deal of effort. Sylaise and Andruil have both managed to find their own successful partners.

Maybe reaching out to his sisters would be more effective, then?

  
In any case, it seems clear his mother does not wish to discuss Selene any further so Dirthamen quickly changes subjects to ask about family plans for Wintersend. It is a suitable distraction, and allows his mind to wander once more as his mother discusses schedules and work events and holiday traffic.

–

 

Selene takes a deep breath.

Ok, this is…less of a professional visit, she’ll admit. She has worn one of her favorite dresses that flares out just slightly from her hips, along with a pair of dark leggings and high boots, and one of her roommates bright scarfs at his recommendation.

  
She knocks with the ring hanging from the bronze lions mouth thrice, once again. A bouquet today, instead of a binder. Are the flowers too much though? Maybe he doesn’t even like flowers. Maybe he’s allergic. Maybe he won’t even  _remember_ her-

“SELENE!” Booms Elgar'nan as the door swings open. “I was not expecting you today! Is everything alright?”

 

“Uh…” Selene stammers. “Everything’s fine, of course! I just-I was wondering if uh…Is Dirthamen home, by any chance?”

Elgar'nan frowns, then looks down at the bouquet in her hands and nods knowingly. “He does not live here,” he says more softly than he usually speaks without a child in the room. “But I will get them to him, if you would like.”

“I-..”Selene shifts awkwardly on her feet, still outside the door. “That would be great. Thank you.”

 

“You have taken a shine to my son then?” He pushes.

Selene runs her hand over top of her head, rustling her hair as she goes “Maybe? He seemed nice. And cute. Very cute. I just thought I’d uh…thank him. For yesterday.”

“You know I wooed my wife with flowers,” Elgar'nan continues as though he didn’t hear her. “She was lovelier than anything to grow out of the earth, but their colors accented her beautifully and she was always so happy to receive them. Why, I had given her a bouquet like this on the very night Andruil was conceived! She was so pleased with them that-”

“ _I ACTUALLY_ ,” Selene interrupts more loudly than she means to “I uh, actually need to go. I have a uh. A thing. That needs my attention. So thanks. Thanks for uh… _that_. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

 

Elgar'nan stares as she all but dashes down the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator.

“Strange girl,” he murmurs before looking down at the flowers in his hand. “Lets get you in some water, shall we?”


	10. Coffeeshop AU

Selene has a routine.

A routine that involves getting coffee at the same shop three times a day. It’s not really a strange quirk, she thinks; lots of professors depend on caffeine to get through the day, and the cafe down the street gives her a college discount  _and_  a punch card. Besides, people are supposed to eat three times a day, anyways.

So she drinks her calories instead of chews them; who cares?

As it turns out, her barista does.

  
She doesn’t realize it until she is back in the classroom, students already filing into the room while she takes her first sip from her drink and very nearly spits it back out.

That is  _not_  her order.

  
  


It’s too late to go back though; she’s scheduled to lecture for the next two hours, and she has another hour and a half class twenty minutes after this one.

 

Not that that stops her from storming back to the cafe once both classes are over, and asking for the person who made her drink as she hands over her receipt. 

They’ve gone home already she’s told, but should be back in for the morning shift.

’ _Well Dirthamen_ ,’ she frowns, looking down at where they had circled his name when they handed her back her receipt, ’ _I hope you don’t make the same mistake tomorrow._ ’

  
  


Except that he isn’t there when she goes in the morning. But the barista covering for him makes her order correctly, so Selene doesn’t bother making a fuss. One drink out of several hundred being incorrect is not the worst track record for a cafe anyways, she supposes. Possibly he was having an off day, and she’s making mountains out of molehills.

 

Or so she tells herself, until she nearly spits out her lunch coffee.

She spins back around in her heels and pencil skirt, and takes the few steps back into the coffee shop, trying to read the baristas name tag while he bustles through the prep area.

_Aha!_

 

“Excuse me,” She says, placing her cup down on the counter, looking directly at the man whose name tag reads  _Dirthamen_ “This isn’t what I ordered.”

“That is true,” He says, without pausing from stirring the next customers order.

Selene blinks. “You  _knew_?”

“Yes,” He says calmly, handing a coffee to the woman standing beside her.

“What if I’m allergic to this?”

 

He hesitates. “The flavors and contents of the drink are exactly the same as you ordered. Unless you are allergic to a lack of caffeine, it is unlikely you are allergic to anything in that drink.”

“You gave me  _decaf_?” Selene hisses.

“I am concerned about your caffeine dependency.”

“I teach at the college five days a week! I need caffeine to  _function_.”

“That belief is often what leads to issues like dependency and addiction, even to long term health problems that include but are not limited to-”

“Are you a doctor?” Selene interrupts.

He shakes his head slowly. “No.”

“And you don’t know me.”

“…No.”

“Then you have no right to change my order without permission. Please remake my drink, caffeine intact.”

  
  


Dirthamen frowns, and hesitates before disappearing through a door in the back. Selene waits for a few minutes, keeping one eye on the clock on the wall before he reappears and opens the register. He hands her back a small pile of change and bills and closes the drawer.

 

Selene blinks down at the money in her hand.

“What is this?”

“A refund,” He states plainly.

“I don’t need a refund,” Selene frowns. “I need a new drink.”

“My… _manager_  informed me that I am not allowed to refuse a customer a drink they have already paid for,” He explains before pointing at a sign on the wall. “But since you now have a full refund, I am permitted to refuse you service.”

 

Selenes eyes widen. “I-you- _what_?”

“It is for your own good.”

Selene blinks, and stuffs the money into her purse. “This is-you realize you’re a barista refusing to serve coffee, yes?”

“I do, yes.”

“Did-did I offend you, somehow?”

“No. You have been a very kind customer for a long time now, in fact. You are one of the more pleasant faces that we see each day.”

“I…can I speak to your manager, please?”

  
Dirthamen nods, and a very small woman slowly walks out of the door he had disappeared behind once again.

 

“Hello dear,” She greets. “How can I help you?”

“Hello,” Selene smiles back “I’ve been coming here for nearly a year now, and for some reason Dirthamen has suddenly decided that I can’t have caffeine in my coffee anymore. Is there anyway you could maybe talk to him about-”

“Oh, yes yes,” The older woman laughs. “He’s quite taken with you, you know. He’s just worried about your health. He recently took a health certification class in case a customer needs CPR, and once he’s found a new interest, it’s difficult to get him focused on anything else.”

 

“…Right,” Selene nods slowly, not really comprehending anything at all and getting increasingly anxious about being late to her next class. “So, about my coffee…?”

“I’m afraid Dirthamen is the only one working right now, it’s just a small cafe after all,” the old woman says without even a hint of remorse. “If he says no, I have to respect that. Did he give you the refund? I’d be more than happy to offer you a free decaf, or one of our specialty teas if you’d like.”

“I don’t suppose you have an  _anti_ -sleepytime tea by any chance?” 

The old woman laughs again. “No, my apologies. They’re all herbal with little to no caffeine content. Would you like one for the road? It might help you unwind.”

“No, thank you,” Selene grumbles, officially having to leave if she has any hope of not being late. “I’ll just-I’ll figure something else out.”

“Of course dear. Do take care now,” The woman smiles as she walks Selene out.

  
  


Selene is in such a daze on her way back ( _A coffee shop who refuses to sell coffee? What is the world even coming to, some things are meant to be constants or everything is just chaos_ ) she’s already at her desk before she notices the sandwich the manager must have slipped into her hand.

As she takes a reluctant bite from the growling of her stomach, she has to admit that it’s one of the best turkey sandwiches she’s ever had.

–

 

Her feud with Dirthamen doesn’t ease up, and Selene decides to take drastic measures after being read the tea list so many times she can nearly recite it in her sleep.

She alternates her routine.

  
It means waking up nearly two hours earlier, to get to the shop at 5am instead of 7, and as she finishes her order, she sees Dirthamen walk in the door to start his shift. He blinks at her, and a burst of what she assumes is pure stubbornness rises up in her chest as she looks at the sharp nosed man at the register and asks for two extra shots of espresso in her drink.

 

She makes direct eye contact with Dirthamen as she takes a scalding hot sip of her extra caffeinated drink and steps out the door.

The burnt tongue is almost worth it for the small sense of victory it gives her.

–

 

The next time she goes in at 5am, Deceit tells her he’s been given explicit instructions from Dirthamen and ‘Nona’ (the manager and apparent owner, she has to assume) not to give her more than a single serving of caffeine in a day.

 

It’s war, is what it is.

  
  


For lunch, she cashes in one of her favors to her co worker, Melanadahl, to get her drink  _for_  her.

“Why not just go to one of the other hundreds of coffee shops in the city?” He asks, handing over her change and coffee. 

Sweet, caffeinated coffee.

“It’s not the same,” Selene shrugs “This is the only place that serves fair trade Rivaini beans at a fair price, and the Fereldan brews from most of the chain stores give me stomach aches.”

 

Melanadahl just shakes his head before freezing and tapping her shoulder. Selene looks up from her drink and follows his line of sight.

Nona is standing on the other side of the glass door, arms crossed over her chest disapprovingly.

Selene gives her a sheepish grin, holding her cup up in cheers before dashing off down the street.

  
Guess this trick won’t work again, she sighs.

–

The next morning, Dirthamen is the one at the register.

  
“Working the overnight shift?” She asks with an eyebrow raise as she steps up to the counter.

“Deceit had other plans, and asked me to cover for them,” He informs her. “Would you like to try one of our teas?”

“Sure.”

“Are you sure?  We have earl grey, chamomile, mango-…Did you say _‘sure’_?”

Selene nods. “The mango sounds good. I think something fruity would be best.”

Dirthamen seems slightly taken aback, and mildly hopeful as he rings her up and prepares her tea.

It almost makes her feel bad for what she’s about to do.

_Almost_.

  
  


She thanks him for the tea, and at least has the decency to take it out of eye shot of the cafe before she takes the five hour energy out of her pocket and dumps it into her drink.

  
  


“I saw that,” Calls a familiar voice.

Selene goes stock straight, turning around to look at the shortest of the cafes baristas; Fear.

“Saw what?” she attempts.

 

Fear holds their hand out for the empty plastic canister, and Selene reluctantly hands it over.

“Do you all give this sort of restriction to all of your customers?”

“Not all of our customers visit three times a day,” they shoot back. “Do you actually eat food, or do you run entirely on fumes?”

“Of course I eat-”

“What, dinner?”

“Yes,  _dinner_ -”

“Prove it.”

“Fine! How?”

“Friday. There’s a nice diner on 5th. What time does your last class get out?”

“Nine,”

“We’ll meet you at nine thirty then,” They nod, tucking the empty energy drink into their pocket. “Try not to give yourself a heart attack before then.”

“Fine! I’ll be there, alive and well!” She calls back to their retreating figure before she stops.

  
  


Did she….did she just agree to go on a date with her war baristas?

Oh.

_Fuck_.


	11. Accountants AU

The box is heavy in her arms, overfilled with pens and notebooks and various desk supplies. It’s a struggle to hit the button in the elevator; several floors higher than her old location had been.

Music drones on quietly in the small space, two more crammed in beside her, each with a similar box of their own.

 

“Not really the way I wanted to move up,” Enastaren mutters, shifting the container in his arms.

 

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Melanadahl teases back to his brother. “Do well while we’re here and you may luck into something more permanent. I’ll  _earn_  my spot of course, but hey, luck got you this far.”

“You’re a cocky little shit for someone who slept with a nightlight well into high school, you know that?” Enastaren shoots back. Selene snickers from her place between them, her role as a barrier between the brothers well established by now.

“That was  _mood lighting_ , you jerk.”

“Then why was it still on even when you didn’t have company over?”

 

The door dings open and the two stop bickering as they all finally step out onto the top floor. Selene feels awkward, trying not to look out of place in a room full of people wearing designer suits and shoes, thankful to have the box to keep her hands from pulling on the hem of her skirt habitually.

“Anyone know where we’re actually working up here…?” She whispers to the other two before their boss-  _ **The**_  boss, everyone who works in this buildings boss- appears from their right.

 

“Hello!” He booms, arms wide. “Welcome to the main hub for Evanuris Empires financial needs! We appreciate your cooperation while your floor is being remodeled. Please, feel free to partake in any of the amenities available to you while you’re here.”

“Mr. Evanuris!” Enastaren beams, sliding his box under one arm to allow him to shake hands with the other. “It’s an honor!”

Both brothers step forward to introduce themselves to him while Selene stays in place, box clutched tightly in hand.

Is it really normal for the president of the company to personally show transfers around…?

 

“And you must be Miss Selene!” he declares, loudly enough that most everyone in the room stops to look up at her.

She briefly debates the merits of turning around and going back out the elevator, getting onto a bus, and looking for another job elsewhere as she feels her body trying to shrink in on itself at the attention.

“I-er-yes. Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” she finally manages.

“We’ve met before!” He announces, hand smacking into her back as though they were old friends and very nearly sending her toppling forward.

“We have?”

“Of course! You were in attendance at the holiday celebrations! I was the one in the large red suit!”

 

Selene blinks, mind racing for a moment before-  _oh_!

“You mean the charity party?”

“Yes, yes! You were there with your charming little daughter! She wanted the light up dragon toy, yes?”

 

She nearly breaks out in laughter at the looks of confusion and betrayal coming from Melanadahl and his brother over Elgar'nans shoulders, but just shakes her head. “Er, no. I mean, yes, I was there, but no, that wasn’t my daughter.”

Elgar'nans face drops slightly at the news as he lets out an almost pathetically soft “No?”

“No, my neighbors both had to work that night, and they asked me to bring her as a favor. She’s wonderful, and I babysit her on occasion, but she isn’t mine. I don’t have any children.”

“But you do  _enjoy_  children then? You would like to have some of your own, one day?”

 

Selene hesitates, the truth thick on her tongue and her boss’s boss’s boss’s eyes heavy on her own.

_**No** _ _, I ran away from my parents at a young age and they never even bothered to look for me._

_**No** , I have no example to pull from for a healthy family dynamic and I don’t think I could pull it off._

_**No, because what if I end up just like them?** _

 

“…Maybe?” she says, and feels the heavy lead of guilt settle in her stomach as he smiles in approval at her as though her ’ _maybe_ ’ were a ’ _yes I absolutely want hoards and hoards of children of my own_ ’ and he had some sort of personal stake in the matter.

 

“Wonderful!” he proclaims, his hand on her shoulder-blade as he steers her towards one of the private offices on the eastern side of the building. He moves to open the door, frowning briefly when he discovers it locked and knocks loudly, twice.

The door clicks open, and a young man with dark hair and a similar jawline to her boss’s own is standing on the other side, looking caught off guard by the pair of them.

“You two will be sharing this office while the third floor is under renovations,” Elgar'nan declares, pushing Selene past the other man and into the room, taking the box from her grip with ease and plunking it down atop the large wooden desk. “Please make sure she is well accommodated.”

The door frame shakes with the force of being swung closed, Elgar'nan taking his exit before any arguments can be brought up.

 

Selene swallows, shifting awkwardly on her feet and wondering what her next move should be.

 

“You have my apologies,” The man sighs. “Father can be very heavy handed when he gets an idea into his head.”

“It’s fine,” Selene lies, despite it being very much not fine. She’s overwhelmed and uncomfortable and concerned that if this doesn’t go well she could be out of a job and back on the streets.  Not that Melanadahl and Enastaren are likely to actually force her out of the apartment, but if she can’t hold up her end of the bills, they could all be in trouble. Rent is higher this close to the city, but still cheaper than all the expenses that would come with a car, not to mention the complications of potentially being shared between three people.

No. No, she  _has_  to make this work.

 

“Where should I set up?”

–

The morning passes in silence. Selene focuses on getting her work done on her laptop on one side of the desk while Dirthamen works on his own computer at the other. At 12:30 exactly, someone knocks and asks for Dirthamen’s lunch order.

 

“What would you like?” He asks Selene, finally addressing her directly. It’s so unexpected, she freezes for a moment.

“I brought my lunch. Sorry. Thank you, though?”

His lip twitches slightly as he asks them for his usual and returns to his work without another word.

 

About twenty minutes later, they return with a tray carrying a large summer salad and a bottled water, dropping it off at Dirthamen’s desk (which is also her desk now, at least temporarily she supposes) and leaving without another word.

“Are you on a diet?” She asks, digging through her still largely unpacked box for the small insulated purple bag containing her own lunch and thermos of lemonade.

“No,” he says without any additional information.

Selene nods, carefully unwrapping her turkey sandwich and trying to eat it as quietly as possible.

“Do you always make your lunch?” He asks.

Selene nods in affirmation, trying to quickly swallow her last bite before speaking. “Mine, Melanadahls, and Enastarens.”

“Brothers?”

“Not mine, but to each other.”

“You are dating one of them, then?”

Selene lets out a laugh, covering her mouth to keep from spraying any lingering bits of food. “Definitely not. I met Melanadahl in grade school, and his family offered me a place to stay. It was just easier to split rent when we moved out.”

“I see.”

 

It’s the last thing he says to her that day.

–

The first week goes in a similar pattern; much of the day is spent in silence, each of them working on their own accounts. He starts sending her out of the room during certain phone calls, and she just takes the opportunities to check on her roommates and grab a cappuccino from the top floors unnecessarily complicated coffee machine.

 

“Trade me,” Enastaren pleads as she points out a decimal in the wrong place on his screen.

“Why?”

“Because you’re rubbing elbows and who knows what else with the man who’ll one day be our boss.” Melanadahl chimes in from his own spot one desk over.

“He barely even speaks, the noisiest thing in that office is the keyboards,” Selene argues. “It’s not like we’re  _bonding_.”

“I could handle that,” Enastaren muses “I could just speak enough for the both of us.”

“You speak enough for the  _whole world_ , bro. Maybe learn to shut up sometimes instead.”

“Whatever,” Enastaren says as he lobs one of his stress balls at his younger brothers head. “Trade me?”

 

Selene hums quietly, nails tapping against the edge of the mug in her hand as she contemplates her current office partner. Things are quiet, but it’s turned into a comfortable silence, each of them becoming accustomed to the others working habits. It’s not permanent, and it’s likely the carpets will be finished in just another week or so, but it’s nice. Coming to work is a bit less dreadful, knowing he’s going to be there.

“Nah.”

–

“Do you have plans for the weekend?” Dirthamen asks as she returns to their office.

“Not really,” She shrugs. “Do you need help with something?”

He hesitates.

“No, I do not.”

 

She nods and shifts slightly in her heels. “Ok.”

“Do you enjoy movies?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

He leans back in his chair, fingers toying carefully with the edge of his tie. “Would you be willing to accompany me to one?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “At some event I don’t know about yet?”

“No. It would be a date.”

 

Selene carefully places the still hot mug down on the desk, slowly taking her usual seat as she bites down on her lower lip.

“Is…that allowed? Isn’t that against HR policies or something?”

“We do not technically work in the same department, so there is no legal reason to fear for your employment if you say yes.”

“But there  _is_  one if I say no?”

 

Dirthamen blinks, eyebrow furrowing slightly at her question. “No. Your decision is not a factor in your future employment here. Even if you were not to go along with my fathers machinations, mother enjoys your work and has been looking for a higher position for you for some weeks already.”

“I’m getting a  _promotion_?”

“That seems likely, yes.”

Selene slumps back into her chair, hand sliding nervously over her scalp. A promotion. This was supposed to be a temporary job, just something to pay the bills while she worked towards her own projects. The companies reputation was never the cleanest, and it wasn’t one she was planning to associate with for an extended period of time. In fact, its turnover rate for the first three months of employment is notoriously high. But here she is, nearly a year later, and being looked at for a promotion by the  _CEO_. 

The money is good, and the hours so far are easily manageable. They _do_  work with a lot of charities, and maybe those other issues are just…rumors. Would it be so terrible to stick around?

 

An awkward silence permeates the room as Dirthamen continues to fiddle with his tie.

“Are you interested in the movies? Or is there some other event you would prefer to attend?”

Selene blinks up at him, yanked out of her thoughts.

“Oh. Oh, no.”

His face falls slightly and her hands shoot up “I mean yes! I meant-there’s no other event I know of, the movies sound fine. Do you-are you  _sure,_ though?”

He nods. “Yes.”

Selene nods back. “Ok. Ok, yes, I would like to go to the movies with you this weekend.”

–

He picks her up at 7 the following evening, but Melanadahl makes him sit on the couch while he and Enastaren finish going over her outfit.

 

“Stay still,” Enastaren gripes, tightening his hold on her chin. The eyeliner pencil glides over her eyelid and she struggles not to blink at the tickling sensation.

“This really isn’t necessary. Who’s even going to notice in a movie theater? They turn off all the lights.”

 

Melanadahl sighs and pats her shoulder consolingly. “Oh my sweet summer child. Your date is rich. Crazy, disgustingly, could-probably-just-buy-himself-a-bride-or-a-large-orgies-worth-of-whores-on-a-whim rich. If you want to hold his attention, you’ll have to put in some effort.”

“The effort was getting into these pants,” She argues before Enastaren yells at her to stay still again.

 

“Your legs are your strongest asset here,” Melanadahl says. “The pants and strappy heels will help to elongate them.”

“Shouldn’t my personality be my strongest asset?”

“Sure, sure. But you don’t have much in the tits area, so we’re making up for things. The looseness of the shirt tucked into the high waist skinny jeans will keep him guessing enough to stay interested, and the sleeveless cut will remind him you could pick him up and pin him against a wall if the urge strikes.”

“The boy’s a bottom,” Enastaren agrees, finally finished with her eyeliner. “Definitely play up the arms bit.”

“I hate you both,” Selene grits out.

“You’ll thank us when you’re rich.”

–

The movie goes smoothly. Dirthamen treats, and they see a movie that has already been out a few weeks so the theater is practically empty. He comments on the bright blue of her top once they’re seated, and Selene compliments him on the cut of his coat.

 

Her stomach is grumbling by the time they exit, having skipped lunch at Melanadahls insistence that she do so to fit into the high-waisted pants.

“Would you allow me to treat you to dinner?” Dirthamen asks at the noise.

Selene turns slightly red and thanks him, agreeing with ease. She’s not picky about food, and tells him wherever he’d like would be fine.

 

She nearly swallows her tongue when they drive up to one of the most expensive restaurants in town.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” She assures him as he hands his keys to the valet.

“It is not a problem. We have a standing table at this location, and it is not currently in use.”

Selene shifts in her heels, feeling under dressed in her old jeans. He seems to notice, taking her hand carefully in his own, thumb running over her knuckles. “You look very striking.”

She gives him a slow smile as she lets some of the tension fall out of her shoulders. “Thank you.”

He leads her towards a curved booth in the back of the restaurant, hand still wrapped around her own as she hears her heart beat thrumming in her ears from the contact.

 

They have barely ordered their entrees when the waiter returns with a large assortment of flowers and a bottle of champagne sitting in ice. Selene and Dirthamen both seem confused by its presence, and it abruptly ends their previous discussion.

“I did not order these,” Dirthamen frowns.

“They were ordered for you by an anonymous bar patron,” The waiter returns, taking a deep bow and their leave.

Selene carefully lifts the champagne out of the bucket, checking the label; she recognizes it. The same one from the holiday charity event.

 

Dirthamen stands, looking towards the bar and letting out a long breath; Selene can see Elgar'nan waving back from behind a hat and a pair of sunglasses, a drink of his own in hand.

 

“I didn’t realize your father was joining us,” Selene jokes as Dirthamen sits back down.

“He is not. He did not inform me he would be here, I was assured-” He closes his eyes and lets out another breath. “I apologize.”

“It’s alright,” She tells him, taking his hand back in hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I just don’t understand  _why_.”

“He…desires grandchildren.”

 

Selene blinks.

Looks at the champagne, and the flowers, and the mortified look on Dirthamen’s face.

“ _Oh_.”

 

“I did not wish to push this on you. I would not force you to…Truthfully, I do not desire children, but my father does not seem to understand when I try to tell him. Perhaps I am being unclear, we often have issues communicating with one another.”

“Dad’s are like that,” Selene sighs without thinking.

 

This time it is Dirthamen who looks surprised.

“This is the first time you have mentioned your parents.”

Selene scowls slightly into her water glass. “There’s not much to mention.”

He nods in supposed understanding.

“I don’t want kids either,” She admits. “I mean, not right now, at least. Or anytime soon. I have a lot of other things I want to do.”

“My father said you desired many children.”

“Well, your father lied,” Selene says before wincing. “Don’t tell him I said that, I really could be fired.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

–

His shirt is untucked, her hands sliding against the skin of his stomach as he lets out a long rumbling groan. She grins against his lips, pressing him back into the front door of his apartment. He tastes like chocolate mousse and raspberry sauce, and his own fingers are fumbling with the top buttons of her shirt.

“Do you need to unlock the door?” She hums, mouth trailing down his neck as her fingers pop open the button of his collar to allow her more space.

He moans out an affirmation, and she trails her fingers back down his chest, opening button after button as she goes. She traces over the line of his belt, hands splitting to move down his thighs before one slips into his pocket and pulls out his keys. She slips them into his hand and takes a step back, admiring the mess of his hair and the lack of his usual straight-faced decorum in the moment.

 

He fumbles with the keys, opening the lock before turning and practically yanking her back into his apartment. She smiles, lips crashing against his as he leads her towards the couch, shedding layers as they go. She’s still stuck in the damn pants, but her bra is one of her nicer ones, and combined with the heels it’s still passing for a pretty good look.

Dirthamen doesn’t seem to be complaining, at least.

 

He falls back onto the couch and she perches herself in his lap, fitting her lips against his again while his hands traverse the length of her thighs. She shivers in response, hands gripping the back of his head in an effort to pull him closer. She’s never done this before, not really, but she’s familiar with most of what’s involved. She knows the techniques and the theory and knows how to read his responses. Noises are good, skin contact is better. When his fingers twitch over the curve of her ass, she grinds carefully against his lap. Not a promise; she’s still not sure if she’s willing to go that far yet and besides that she isn’t sure if she  _can_  in these stupid pants, but the response is immediate and gratifying as his own hips move up to meet her.

He sighs out her name, arms wrapping around her so affectionately that it throws her off. Not literally, but she slows in her movements against him, hands sliding over his red marked neck and flushed shoulders.

The kisses cool off, less hungry and ravenous and slowing into a gentle sort of passion. He nuzzles his face against her own and she returns the gesture without thinking, feeling most of the tension and pressure fall away at his lack of insistence.

 

The kisses and exploratory touches continue well into the sunrise, until their skin is alight and tingling and they’re both panting from over sensitivity, down to their undergarments and stretched out over the length of his bed.

 

“I should go,” She murmurs into the soft press of his cheek.

He makes a small grumbling noise, arms wrapping around her waist as he pulls her closer and she worries she might ignite just from the press of his skin to hers.

“It is Sunday.” he argues, as though that fact in itself should be enough to get the rest of the world to melt away.

 

“The world doesn’t stop turning on Sundays. I still have to go to the store, and buy groceries and probably do a load of laundry.”

“Let your roommates buy the groceries,” he suggests, peppering her back and shoulders with feather light kisses that feel like tiny sparks. “I will buy you more clothes.”

Selene snorts at the suggestion, although he seems entirely serious. She shifts, turning around in his arms to look at him face to face. She means to argue, to tell him she has responsibilities and she can’t just throw money at things and expect it all to work out, that she’s expected elsewhere, probably.

 

But the early morning sun is lighting up his eyes in a way that makes her heart skip a beat. A way that reminds her of the first time she ran all the way to the ocean, still covered in dirt and blood and the bruise from her father, and the way the same sun had lit up the waves. The feeling of the salt air filling her lungs, the shocking cold of the water rolling over her feet, and the sound of nothing but the world moving around her, open and daring her to make a choice.

Her first taste of freedom.

 

“Ok,” She decides, fingers drifting over the length of his back lightly enough to make him shiver against her. “I’ll stay.”


	12. Mail of Destiny AU

Once upon a time, Selenes apartment building had a competent mail person. Back in the glory days, when the only items filling her mail box had either her or her roommates names on them. Back when it was only bills and coupons and advertisements, and she never had to worry about being attacked by the affluence of letters sitting inside the locked box.

She misses those days, she thinks bitterly as a small pile of magazines for camping supplies, fashion, and yet another brown envelope with official letterhead and All Caps Handwriting (who does that,  _really_ ) fall onto the small communal table in front of her.

Still, she scoops them up and waits for the elevator to take her up to her apartment, not even a little bit surprised when her roommate immediately takes the magazines and happily flops onto their couch to skim through their latest accidental haul as she walks in the door.

 

“It’s illegal to go through someone else’s mail you know,” Selene says for the umpteenth time.

“Magazines don’t count; they’re unsealed and fair game babe,” Des retorts as he casually flips a page.

 

Selene lets out a puff of frustrated air and unceremoniously drops the rest of the mail onto the kitchen counter. Carefully, she pulls a glass out of a cabinet and fills it with iced tea from their fridge before her attention returns to the pile.

 

“Apparently someone needs to call their mother,” she hums, spreading the items out. “Hope everyone’s ok.”

“What happened to not opening up other peoples mail?” Des teases.

“It’s written on the outside of the envelope, there’s no breach on my end.”

“Oooh, look at you, rebellious through technicalities. Have we finally cracked through that rigid moral shield of yours?”

“It certainly took you long enough,” She shrugs, taking a sip of her drink.

 

Curiously, she flips the brown envelope over, checking for any other information she might be able to get off of it.

She lets out a loud snort as she finally reads the name on the front of it.

“We’re getting mail for a god,” She informs Des.

 

It grabs his interest enough that he finally looks up at her from the fashion magazine. “Sorry?”

 

She holds up the letter, elbow propped on the counter. “It’s addressed to  _Dirthamen_ ,” she informs him as she glances over the names of the other recipients. “And these are to  _Fear_  and  _Deceit_. D'you think maybe we’re just being pranked?”

 

Des finally sits up in rapt attention, magazine tossed onto their coffee table as he tilts his head slightly. “Or it’s  _destiny_.”

Selene levels him an unimpressed look.

 

“No, no, stay with me here,” Des explains. “We’re getting mail addressed to the god of  _secrets_. That’s a sign. I don’t even believe in the gods, and  _I_  know that’s a sign. You get a literal letter from a god, you should listen to it.”

“ _Sure,_ Des. And who’s going to tell him neither of us is capable of calling our mothers, what with that whole mortality issue?”

“Well obviously  _that_  bit’s not meant to be taken literally! But Fear and Deceit for instance? They’re supposed to be constantly searching for him or something, right? Maybe since we’ve got things for all three,  _we’re_  supposed to go looking for him. Or them.”

“Or maybe we’re being pranked, because someone in the building heard we used to be dalish and thought it’d be funny.”

“Sel _eeeeeeene~_ …”

 

She frowns at her roommate, who responds by jutting out his bottom lip and tilting his head up just enough that his long dark hair creates a curtain around golden, currently puppy-dog reminiscent, eyes.

 

Her resolve wavering, Selene takes another glance at the pile of mail on the counter.

“How would we even go about something like that? I’m not knocking on every door in the building asking for  _Dirthamen_. We’d be laughed out of the complex.”

“You’re the smart one, I’m sure you can figure it out,” Des grins, finally crossing their living room to settle behind her. His arms wrap around her waist, neck stretched to let his head rest on her shoulder, and she lets out a long sigh as she looks at the address in an attempt to narrow their search.

It’s  _their_  address on the envelope.

They’ve been living here long enough it’s not just a previous tenant, so what else…

Flipping over the camping magazine, Selene grins as she finds her answer.

“They’re three floors up.”

 

“Oooh, penthouse.  _Rich_  destiny, I approve,” Des croons, squeezing Selene just a little tighter before releasing her. “I’d better go get on something more appealing before we go. You probably should too, you smell like old books.”

“Some people  _like_  that smell you know.”

“Yes, well, some people don’t know good taste when it’s sleeping right beside them,” he winks.

 

Selene just shakes her head, gathering the last few weeks of accidental mail they’ve accumulated and wrapping them up with a rubber band.

 

_Destiny…_

What a silly concept.

 

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to change into something more comfortable. She changes out of her work blouse and skirt, slipping instead into a comfortable worn pair of jeans, and a large grey sweater with her favorite depressed donkey on the front.

 

“Your top has a tail,” Des says disgustingly as she steps back out of her room. His own shirt has a neckline that vanishes right into the belt of his own jeans, and only barely qualifies as a shirt rather than a vest.

“It’s authentic,” Selene points out, spinning so the back of her sweater is facing Des. She gets no small amount of satisfaction from the disapproval on his face as he pulls at the aforementioned tail and hears the velcro meant to keep it on.

“At least it’s authentic in that it also comes off,” he gripes, tossing it onto the counter. “I can’t believe we’re about to meet a god and you’re wearing a cartoon sweater…”

“It’s comfortable.”

“Gods don’t care about comfort,” he sighs as she picks up her keys and the mail bundle. “They want sacrifice, babe. That’s what fashion is all about.”

–

 

The elevator ride is short, and Selenes stomach barely stays still for the bulk of it.

Not that she’s putting any stock in destiny, but first impressions have never been her strong suit. They might still think she’s been stealing their mail, and technically they  _have_  since Des has made a small collection of their magazines.

Assuming these people actually exist, anyways.

 

Des knocks on the door to (hopefully) the correct apartment. 9E, at the end of the hall, three floors directly up from their own.

The door swings open and a small elf with a sharp nose and an oversized hoodie looks at them distrustingly.

“What?” they ask.

“Hello there,” Des greets, all smiles and warmth as he leans forwards, arm propped up in the door frame and completely in his element. “We’re looking for our destiny.”

 

The elves eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed and confused as they repeat “ _What_?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Selene chimes in before they can slam the door closed and get Des’s fingers in the crossfire and holding up the bundle in her hand. “I think we might’ve gotten your mail? Uh, we’re looking for…Dirthamen, I think?”

The elves lip twitches slightly. “He’s not home.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Selene says as she holds out the bundle for them to take. “If he lives here, that’s enough for me to at least leave it here, right? There’s also some mail for, erm…a Deceit, and a Fear?”

 

Their eyes dart down to the bundle, not even close to reaching for it as they assess the brown, scrawled on envelope sitting on top. “Keep it. We don’t need it, we pay our bills online anyways.”

The door slams closed and Des leaps back in surprise.

 

Selene stares for a moment at the wooden door, glancing between it and the stack of mail still in her hand.

Who…

_Who do they think they are?!_

 

She bangs loudly on the door, infuriated at their refusal to take something  _that is theirs!_

 

Finally, the door swings open again and she all but shoves the pack of letters into the chest of the person behind it.

“Do you have any idea how rude that is?! This is your mail, it’s _your_ burden to dispose of it, I’m not your, your….”She blinks, looking at the elf in front of her.

The elf that is definitely not the same elf that was there a moment ago.

“…oh.” she trails off.

 

This elf, only an inch or two shorter than her and with shoulder length hair, takes the bundle from her into the apartment without complaint.

“Ok,” They say with a slow nod “D'you want to come inside?”

 

“Yes, we do,” Des grins, stepping in and past them and dragging Selene with him by the wrist. He lets out a low whistle as he looks around the apartment. “This is way bigger than the units on our floor. Very snazzy.”

 

Selene nods in silent agreement, uncomfortable in an unfamiliar apartment. She notices the smaller elf grumbling from a recliner in the living room, practically staring a hole into her and Des.

Well, at least she’s not the only one upset about the sudden visit, though what she’s done to offend them so terribly, she isn’t sure.

 

“So you’re looking for Dirthamen?” The more polite elf asks as they close the door. “Any particular reason?”

“His name was on the top piece of mail,” Selene shrugs. “I wasn’t sure what to do with it all, and Des said we should drop it off in person.”

 

The two elves exchange a look, before the polite one asks them “His family didn’t send you?”

“Destiny sent us,” Des nods solemnly.

“No one sent us,” Selene assures them. “Ignore my roommate he’s just…” She makes a vague gesture in the air. “He just watches too much tv.”

“Says the girl in the cartoon sweater,” He retorts.

 

“I think it is a very nice sweater,” Comes a new voice, as a third elf peeks through the hallway. He shifts awkwardly in a pair of pajama pants decorated with a yellow bear in a red shirt from the same show. “It suits you.”

 

Selene swallows, ignoring the sudden rush of heat from the compliment. “Thank you. I like your pants.”

“You seem to be missing the tail, but thank you.”

“Yeah, well,” Selene jokes “My roommate’s got it nailed to our door.”

 

The new elf offers a small, warm smile in response to the reference, and the other two nearly lose their eyebrows to their hairlines in seeming surprise.

 

“I can’t believe that awful sweater is how you flirt with a god,” Des groans “Fate is  _cruel_.”

“It’s not flirting, and he’s not a  _god_. It’s just a joke,” Selene mutters, gently elbowing him in embarrassment. “We dropped off the mail, we should probably go anyways.”

“What? Nooo, we just found this huge penthouse full of beautiful elves and you expect me to  _leave_?” Des says, louder than he really needed to.

 

Selene closes her eyes and begins to count, but the elf who let them in speaks up. “You can stay if you’d like,” They invite. “We were just debating watching a movie, you’re welcome to join us.”

“They are?” Asks the one in the chair.

“ _Yes_ ,” reiterates the polite one “Because they got Dirthamen to smile for the first time in a week. I don’t think they mean any harm.”

 

Selene looks at who she assumes must be Dirthamen, who swallows and gives a small nod “I would enjoy it if you stayed. Unless you need to be somewhere else, of course.”

“Nope!” Des answers for her, plopping down in the center of their large couch. “This absolutely where we’re supposed to be.”

 

There isn’t much of an argument Selene can manage after that, as the others all begin to fill in the available remaining space, and she ends up pressed between Dirthamen and the arm of the couch while the others argue over what movie to watch as though they were all old friends already. And while she doesn’t put much stock in things like destiny, she has to admit; it does feel like a home, when Dirthamen is snoring softly away on her shoulder.


	13. Window AU

The apartment next to Selene’s spends most of the year empty.

It’s a perk, really. It means there’s no one banging on the wall, that she can feel less self conscious about singing along to her music, that there’s no awkward greetings or questions when she’s fumbling through her keys half asleep after a long bus ride home from work.

Which is why when her neighbor decides to actually  _use_  the apartment, she’s less than thrilled.

 

Why they chose to move in the middle of a city wide heat wave, she doesn’t understand. It’s a nice apartment building, known for its security measures and centralized location, but the A/C units leave a lot to be desired. Honestly, if she had the chance to be nearly anywhere else, she’d take it in a heartbeat.

Several weeks pass without her actually seeing her neighbor, though.

In fact,  if it weren’t for the beeping of their microwave around dinner every night, or the low drone of their Netflix documentaries she’s living vicariously through, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed their presence.

 

It’s hard to miss the night their brother comes to visit, though.

 

She realizes something is wrong when she walks into her apartment and nearly jumps out of her skin at the loud ‘THUD’ of something smashing into their shared wall. Most of the words are hard to make out through her closed window, so she opens it quickly (definitely just for airflow in the heat though, certainly not to spy on her mysterious neighbor) and manages to make out “Brother, please calm down-” before she sees a collection of blu rays go flying out the window. She ducks back into her own apartment, back pressed against the wall in hopes that her spying hasn’t gone and gotten her noticed.

 

How do normal people handle situations like these?

Should she call someone?

_‘Help, police, someone is throwing my neighbors movies into the parking lot….?_ ’

 

She feels a familiar tingling in the air and chances another glance out the window in time to see a television floating in mid-air and being carefully pulled back inside.

Her neighbor must be a mage, then.

 

Probably safer not to call in that case. If they’re in hiding, or an apostate, or even just unlucky, they could be carted away.

 

Her nails drum against the window frame, as she contemplates her options. It’s none of her business, technically. A domestic dispute, not something to get involved in unnecessarily.

She slides down the wall and onto the floor, wincing at the familiar sound of a fist hitting flesh.

 

It sends her back to her own house, when she was young. Living in the Val Royeaux alienage with her birth parents, being punished for her fathers products not selling. For not being able to sell her mothers flowers quickly enough, for not being strong enough to help support them.

For not being able to hide the bruises, when the bard found her.

 

Selene lets out a long breath, trying to calm herself down as she recalls Anyu, who had taken her from her home without hesitation. Had brought her into her own family, and hushed any complaints from Selenes birth parents with a handful of gold pieces.

The kindest sort of kidnapping, she supposes, though she knows she had been lucky.

…Her neighbor is probably too old to be kidnapped, by any means.

 

She contemplates calling Anyu, now. She would know what to do, could tell Selene how to help her neighbor without escalating the situation.

…Would probably remind Selene she could always go back to work with her in Orlais, too.

 

Selene leaves her cell phone in her pocket; if she can hear her neighbor, they’d likely hear  _her_  on the phone too, and that would almost definitely make things worse.

The violent sounds seem to have ceased; whatever fighting was happening seems to have finally stopped, and after a moment she hears her neighbors door open and slam closed, followed by a set of footsteps moving past her own door and down the stairs.

Ok.

Ok, that’s either a very good sign, or a very very bad one, right?

 

She debates her options again, finally standing up off of the floor and taking her purse off of her shoulder. Slowly, she leans back out the window and looks down at the pile of destruction in the parking lot.

Her neighbors microwave seems to have been a victim of the carnage.

 

Biting down on her bottom lip, she quickly sticks the lasagna she had prepped this morning into the oven. They always made their dinner in the microwave, so it’s not weird if she just…wants to make sure they have dinner, right?

 

Her legs are moving already though, crawling out through her window. Years of being taught how to scale towers in Val Royeaux finally have a positive use, she thinks wryly as her bare feet land on the cold stone of her neighbors balcony.

 

She inhales sharply when she sees them; curled in on themselves on the floor, blood pouring out of their nose and a dark bruise forming on their left cheek while they take shallow breaths.

 

Selene doesn’t bother to introduce herself or announce her presence, just helps herself into their kitchen and dampens a handful of paper towels. She snags a pillow off of their couch on the way back, carefully rolling them onto their back and settling their head atop it while she pinches the bridge of their nose and begins wiping away the blood dripping down the length of their face.

This close, she can make out their features more clearly. Traditionally masculine, with dark hair and a square jawline. Elven ears and soft cheekbones that are turning a worrisome shade of purple as time continues to pass. Eventually their eyes open, one significantly more swollen than the other. They blink several times, seemingly trying to bring her into focus. Probably a difficult task, given the position of the sun in the window behind her.

 

“…Are you an angel?” He manages to ask. Only, with her hand still pinching the bridge of his nose and his face still injured, it comes out rather more slurred and nasally than he likely meant for.

Selene snorts.

“No, just your neighbor.”

“Why are you here?”

“I heard some…worrisome noises, and wanted to check on you.”

“You do not know me.”

“I know it looks like you got beaten up in your own home,” Selene shrugs. “No one really deserves that, but I’ve been told I’ve got a bleeding heart so maybe I’m biased. Do you want me to leave?”

He seems to take a moment to consider, before shaking his head no.

“Good,” She decides. She pulls over a box of tissues from his coffee table and hands him one so that he can work on slowing his own bloody nose for now. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

He nods with a slight wince and directs her into his bathroom where she finds a fully stocked kit. She takes the time to rub some salves into his skin, going as carefully as she can to avoid worsening his injuries. She presses gently at his chest over his shirt, frowning when it seems as though a few ribs may be injured. He assures it isn’t anything serious, and she opts not to push the matter right now. It takes a long stretch of time to relieve the worst of it without using her own magic, but with nothing life threatening it doesn’t seem worth risking just yet.

Finally, she hears the oven begin to beep from her own apartment. She taps his shoulder three times, lightly, and invites him over for dinner.

 

He looks at her strangely when she crawls back out his window, though.

“I thought you had claimed to be my neighbor?”

“Yeah, just next door.”

“Is there…something wrong with the hallway?”

 

Selene blinks, before giving him a sheepish smile and pulling herself back inside.

“Nope. Nope, probably not. I just-ha, you know how it is. Old habits and all that.”

“It is a habit to crawl through windows?”

“Only when the person on the other side is as attractive as you,” She slips with a wink, falling back into old tricks. When someone calls you out, flattery is the fastest way to allay suspicions after all. But he’s not a mark, she doesn’t  _have_  marks anymore she berates herself.

It’s not a total lie, though.

He  _is_  very handsome.

 

She changes topics as they step out his front door and in through hers, trying for something more casual. She asks about one of the animals she had heard mentioned in one of his documentaries a few nights ago, and that seems to get him engaging in a long conversation while she cuts and serves the lasagna. He even relaxes through dinner as she asks questions and shares her own knowledge of related subjects.

It’s when she’s finally clearing away the plates that he begins to look around her apartment in earnest.

 

“You do not have a television?” he asks as she is rinsing off the dinnerware.

“Not yet,” she admits. “This place isn’t cheap. My parents are helping with rent and utilities a little while I look for a job with better pay, but I don’t like asking them for money for extras. I’m saving up though! The goal is to be able to sustain myself by the end of the year, but my skill set is uh…not in demand here. I’m tutoring out at the university for now, to get ends to meet, but it’s not really a permanent position. Most of the furniture in here is used, or stuff from my parents house.”

“You are Orlesian?”

“Are you one of those Fereldans who think that’s a dirty word?” Selene teases. “I grew up around Val Royeaux, yeah. But there’s not a lot of ’ _Orlesian’_  elves, if you know what I mean.”

“I have nothing personal against Orlais,” he shrugs “I spent much of my youth being tutored in Tevinter, or traveling as needed by my family.”

 

Selene blinks in surprise, turning back to look at her neighbor “You were in Tevinter?”

“Is that so shocking?”

“I…yeah? I mean you’re…” she gestures towards the points of her ears “They’re not really known for being great to elves, there. Pretty much the opposite.”

 

“My family is very wealthy,” He explains. “Many of our business contacts are in Minrathous, and they are much less strict about mage rights and the advancement of magical knowledge than most of Fereldan.”

Selene clicks her tongue. “Ah. Well, that’ll do it then. Never mind.”

 

“Are you a mage?”

She bites down on her bottom lip. It’s strange, almost. To be asked so openly. Anyu and Kaze were always supportive of her abilities, but the importance of not alerting the templars that she possessed magic was drilled into her from an early age. The circles are cold, and unforgiving, and even with the bardic skill set, escape would be near impossible.

She lets out the breath stuck in her throat and admits with a soft “Yes,” and lets the topic die there.

 

He shifts uncomfortably for a moment before his attention seems to be arrested by the mask hanging on her wall. Polished and cleaned, still as beautiful as the day Anyu had gifted it to her. Decorated with a crescent moon and the appearance of falling stars in gleaming golds and silver.

Her trademark.

 

“Do you collect masks?” her neighbor asks.

Selene shakes her head. “No. I only have the one. It was a gift, from my mother.”

“It is very lovely,” he notes.

“Dangerous things often are.”

  
He nods slowly in agreement after a moment, and Selene offers to help him clean up his apartment in an attempt to ease some of the tension in the room. He accepts, and the rest of the evening is spent cleaning up glass shards and taking bloodstains out of his carpet.

By the end of it, she is very tired and ready to go to sleep before her early morning routine needs to start.   
“If you ever need help, just let me know. Yell, or knock on the wall or my door or something, alright?” She says with one hand on his door knob.

 

He pauses, stock still in the middle of his living room.

“I do not think it will be necessary…” he starts, but Selene slowly lowers her face at him in a  _'really’_ sort of way and he seems to correct himself. “…but I will be sure to do so if I feel it is needed. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” She assures him, before saying her good nights and heading back to her own apartment.

 

She stares at the popcorn ceiling and rotating fan while she lies in bed, as her exhaustion starts to overtake her and wonders, for a moment, what her neighbors name might be.

* * *

The music coming from the wall Dirthamen shares with Selene is unusually loud for the late hour.

Additionally, she is singing along to it loudly enough that he can hear her clearly, and she is singing the lyrics incorrectly. A bit slurred, and not nearly as articulated as her usual style of speech. Perhaps something is wrong?

 

He knocks on her door to ensure that she is not in any sort of trouble.

 

There is a small clattering from inside before the door opens, revealing Selene with her hair loose, face flushed, and eyes bright, a long sweater and high socks seemingly her only items of clothing.

“Hey, it’s Dirthamen!” She cheers loudly, before reaching forward to pull him inside of her home. “What brings you to my side of the woods you lovely thing?”

“Your music was very loud, I was concerned.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I was just-It’s nice to dance sometimes, you know? Let loose? Here, follow me, follow me!” She giggles, leading him towards her kitchen. There is a large green bottle and a bowl filled with sugar cubes beside it. “I just finished a job,” She informs him, one finger in front of her lips “But don’t tell anyone. Issa  _secret_.”

 

Dirthamen nods, looking carefully over the contents of her counters. “Have you eaten anything tonight?”

“Nooooope,” She smiles, popping the p. “This’ the good stuff. I’m not gonna ruin it with a  _full belly_.”

“What is ‘the good stuff’?”  
Selene slams her hand down on the counter, causing Dirthamen to jump slightly in alarm, but her face is not one of anger, only surprise and glee.

“You’ve never had  _absinthe!_?”

“I have seen it at a few celebratory occasions, but I have never partaken, no.”

“Ooooh, I’m gonna pop your cherry!” She breaks out into giggles again at that. “Well, I mean, if you’re up for it I can do that  _too,_ but we’ll start with a drink.”

“I do not drink.”

 

She pouts, a small empty glass that seems to have appeared from nowhere already in her hand. “At all?”

“I do not enjoy being inebriated.”

“Oh,” She pouts, the glass vanishing back into a nearby cupboard. “Are you going to be insulted if I keep drinking? Sort of a personal tradition for me.”

“Not at all,” he assures her.

Selene smiles and pours herself another glass from the bright green bottle, and Dirthamen watches with interest as she melts a cube of sugar on top of it with a bottled water.

“They make fountains designed around this drink back home you know,” She informs him, still humming along to her playlist. “They can be really lovely, even if they’re a bit needlessly opulent.”

“Is it very popular?”

“In some circles,” She smiles, giggling again. The track changes, and her eyes widen, as she grabs his hand. “Oh! I love this song! Will you dance with me?”

 

She does not wait for a response before pulling him back out to her living room, doing a twirl while holding his hand above her head and singing along to the music. She laughs as her back lands against his back, asking if he is alright.

He is, although a bit breathless at the speed with which their evening seems to be progressing.

He does not tell her the second part, as she spins in his arms and begins leading him through a rather popular dance from the Orlesian court.

When he dips her, she begins to laugh again.

 

“You’re a wonderful dancer, Dirthamen!” She announces, looping one arm around his neck as he lifts her again.

Her face is now very close to his own, and he can see a few small pieces of sugar that have stuck to her lips.

“Whatever am I going to do with you…” she sighs, moving forward more, bumping her forehead up against his own. “Gorgeous, clever, kind, and you even dance. Did I dream you up? It’s time to fess up mister. I’m on to you, you know. Are you actually a fairy tale prince that escaped from his book?”  
She giggles again, and he has a very good view of the way her eyes crinkle when she does.

 

“I am not a prince,” He assures her.

“You’re  _my_  prince,” She mumbles back, and he can feel her breath against his lips.

His tongue darts out to lick them, because they are suddenly feeling very dry, and her eyes follow the motion.

“If I kiss you, will you turn into fog…?” She whispers, quietly enough that he almost misses it.

 

He is fairly certain she does not mean  _fog,_  and meant to make a reference to an old children story instead, but it is an interesting notion all the same.

 

“I suppose there is only one way to find out.”

* * *

It is another warm afternoon when Dirthamen hears his living room window slide open.

“Do you have an aversion to doors?” He calls out, moving to watch her twist and contort herself to fit through the small opening.

“More to hallways, than doors,” She admits as her torso flips upside down, her head landing carefully on his floor before her second foot does. “Too many unknowns. There’s nowhere to hide with a window, you can see what’s on the other side already.”

Dirthamen nods; her logic is not incorrect, though what she might have to fear in their hallway is a mystery to him.

“Anyways,” she continues, handing him a clear, sealed bag of popcorn seeds as she pulls a small pan with a lid in behind her. “There’s a movie that hit Netflix today I’ve been dying to see. It’s a new sci-fi picture that’s supposed to be pretty good, I thought you might want to watch it with me.”

“Is this because I am the only one of us that has a Netflix account?”

“Partially,” She admits. “But mostly I like your company. Besides, I brought popcorn! And seasonings. It’ll be great; like I’m cooking for you but without the risk of offending your delicate Tevinter tastebuds.”

“I maintain that raw meat is  _not_  a meal.”

“That is how the dish was meant to be served!” Selene asserts, throwing her hands in the air as she lets herself into his kitchen. “I never thought you’d be offended by something that  _bleeds_.”

“I did not realize blood magic was such an integral part of Orlesian cooking.” Dirthamen shoots back with a smile.

Selene makes a fake offended gasp as she spins to face him. “Ex _cuse_ me. Blood magic will always be secondary to  _butter_  magic in Orlesian cooking, thank you very much! Here I was, thinking you were classy enough to know that….Next thing I know, you’ll be suggesting I put that awful fake cheddar on the popcorn.”

“Was that not already your plan?”

It is difficult to tell if the noise she makes this time is pretend, or if she is truly offended at the possibility of it.

“Grab your fancy butter and throw away the cheese dust pretty boy,” She instructs in a playful tone. “I’m about to  _rock your world_.”

* * *

 

* * *


	14. Diner AU

Selene doesn’t have many indulgences.

But she  _is_  a sucker for routine.

 

Which is why every Wednesday, when the school she works at lets out an hour early, she makes her way to the diner on her route home. Grading papers is always more pleasant with a limitless cup of coffee and a stack of oddly shaped pancakes, somehow.

As for why she always sits at the bar top, well…

Maybe the cook who’s usually on duty isn’t exactly hard on the eyes, either.

 

Today though, her cook is missing. Lath is standing between the counter and the window into the kitchen rather than her usual wanderings around the floor to check on customers.

There is another man at the counter, too. His arms are covered in tattoos of wings that remind her of the owls she used to see in the woods, and his hands are littered with thick rings that seem almost designed to hurt whoever he might decide to punch. His eyes look her up and down as she takes her usual seat, and Selene nearly does a 180 and walks back out with her papers in hand.

But she’s been looking forward to her coffee and pancakes all day, and she’s not about to let some overbearing jerk keep her from getting them.

Lath approaches with a hesitant smile, taking Selenes order with a nod.

 

Ess is in the kitchen though, and Selene tries not to pout when the pancakes arrive in perfectly round form.

“What happened to-”

“Ess is cooking today. She’s the only one in,” Lath interrupts, far sharper than Selene has ever heard her. The dreamy lilt to her voice and smile behind her eyes is gone today; even her curls seem to hang more tightly wound than usual over her shoulders.

 

The other man at the counter scoffs, picking at the lemon rind on the edge of his cup of water.

 

Selene eats her pancakes without further complaint (They still taste fine, but she’d become rather fond of the stars and snowflakes and various animals), and after another 30 minutes, the man besides her knocks his water glass off the counter. It shatters loudly onto the floor, and he sweeps a leather coat over his arms and leaves in a quiet, seething fury without so much as a look behind him.

  
_Rude_ , she thinks.

 

Another fifteen minutes pass, and she’s nearly finished reading her students book reflections and finishing off her third cup of coffee when a dark crop of hair appears in the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re back!” She exclaims before her hand darts up in front of her mouth.

Her cook turns around, nearly as surprised as she is at her exclamation and with a faint blush rising over his cheeks.

“Yes, I was…” he hesitates. “…on break.”

“Long break,” Selene teases. “I’ve nearly finished grading already.”

“I apologize.”

 

“Nothing to apologize for,” She smiles. “You should take care of yourself, that’s more important than the work.”

“An odd sentiment for a teacher to have.”

“Is it?” Selene blinks. “If I get sick, or something happens to me, then who will teach my students? If I work myself to exhaustion, I’m no good to them. Then I have to worry about someone else coming in who might not know that Melanadahl needs rigid parameters for his assignments, or that Din'durgen can memorize historical dates in a flash but struggles with her multiplication tables, or that it’s ok to let Ashalin eat her snacks in class because it helps her stay focused, and students who need the attention might fall by the wayside when they’ve all got so much wonderful potential, and…” Selene sighs. “Sorry, that was a bit of a tangent. End of year is coming and I’m going to have to say goodbye to my students. It’s always hard, and I tend to get attached. My roommate teases me about it endlessly.”

“You sound like a very good teacher.”

“I try my best,” Selene smiles back. “I hope you’re feeling better, though?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Though I heard my brother smashed a glass while I was gone.”

It takes a moment for his words to register.

 

“That guy was your  _brother_?”

“Is that strange?”

“I guess not,” Selene muses. “How many years apart are you?”

“We are twins, in fact.”

“ _ **No**  way. _But he was all…” Selene gestures vaguely while scrunching up her face “And you’re all…”she gestures back to the chef and lets out a sigh.

“Yes. He is the handsome one.”

 

Selene snorts. “No. He’s really-I mean, different strokes for different folks, but-I mean I guess if you’re into the tall broad tattoo and creepy just-out-of-jail-for-murder thing, but you’re  _way_  more handsome than-” Selene bites down on her lower lip. “You know what?”

The chef blinks, silently.

“I think I’ve had too much coffee,” She asserts. “I’m just gonna-gonna pay my check. I hope your day gets better.”

He nods, slowly while Selene asks Lath for her check and excuses herself to the bathroom.

 

She finishes washing her hands, faced cooled down a bit from the splash of water to help her keep from accidentally setting a fire in her favorite diner. She hands Lath the payment for her food, and Lath returns with a styrofoam box and her receipt.

“For the road,” Lath smiles cryptically, a dreamy hum back in her voice.

 

–

Selene doesn’t open the box until she’s home, her roommate Des draped over her shoulder and asking eagerly for her leftovers. She swats his hand away from the lid, carefully opening it to find a stack of pancakes shaped like blooming pear trees, with a white chocolate icing for color and a small container on the side, filled with her favorite strawberry syrup.

Taped to the inside of the lid is a note.

 

> _His name is Dirthamen_
> 
> _-Lath ;) <3_

 

with a phone number scrawled out beneath.

 

“I think these are for me,” Selene finally manages, face burning up as she swiftly shuts the lid, tucking them into the refrigerator. “I’ll make you something else for dinner.”


	15. Assassin AU Redux

It’s an old contract, in truth.

Selene knows she’s being given the assignment to keep her occupied, more than because it needs doing. A ‘real’ job after giving too many freebies to the Red Jennies. What she did in her free time didn’t used to be an issue, back when they were just a quiet group made up largely of gossiping kitchen hands and laundry maids accompanied by a few heavy hitters to handle the bloody work. But there’s been a change in Jennies recently, and the new girl is…well…

She likes to make  _statements_.

(Selene maintains stealing all the breeches was a stroke of poetic genius, but it’s not her mothers sort of humor, and that’s where the problem started.)

 

Anyu is just trying to keep Selene safe, however relative a term that might be in their line of work. Selene knows this, and doesn’t begrudge her for it. Keeping their heads down and their noses out of politics is how to stay alive, after all. If things get personal, things get sloppy.

It’s a cleaner business when you’re detached from the person whose head you’re trading in for a check.

 

The research comes first. Learning the marks habits; where they eat, what their schedule is like, who they surround themselves with. Her new target is fairly young, only a few years older than she is (and with how old the contract is, she wonders how much he  _really_  could have pissed someone off, or if he’s just an unfortunate caught in someone elses fight), but still a fairly well known elf throughout Thedas. A young architect with interesting ideas and more than a few innovations under his belt.

The easiest opening to get to him is going to be his wife.

 

A shrewd lawyer with a very particular palate. She likes to be surrounded by trend makers, sophistication, and beautiful things.

It’s an easy role to slip into.

 

One from her veritable catalog of aliases; a famous fashion blogger, with a name and job shared between herself and a few others in her actual line of work for occasions like this one. An invitation to the party is simple to acquire, and once inside it’s almost too easy to find the woman she’s looking for; there is already a small crowd gathered to listen to her opinions.

A few subtle name drops and a few not-so-subtle compliments, and she finds herself easily ingratiated to the womans side, where she spends much of the evening. Selene is kind, and radiant, forcing a confidence she’s grown to wear like a mask, dabbled with appropriate blushes at crude jokes for an endearing sign of innocence.

 

It doesn’t take long before Sylaise is cooing over the fabric of her dress and summoning her husband to take a look (and it doesn’t escape Selenes notice that they’re using the contact as an excuse to touch her hips, either).

It’s strange, seeing her mark this close already.

If she weren’t going for subtlety, she could probably just kill him _now_ , she thinks while he shares a look with his wife.

But her knives are at home, along with her mask. Tonight is not about making the kill; it’s about establishing herself to them. The mark is too well known to dispose of anonymously. She has to make herself a part of their lives, however briefly. A face for them to know, to not stand out on security cameras, to have a regular place on their call logs.

No, tonight is about laying groundwork, so that they will seek  _her_  out, instead.

 

Her mark ( _June_ , she supposes she should get used to calling him, however inconvenient) is listing off the buildings in the area he’s built in what she has to assume is his own way of flirting. It’s more bearable when he breaks off into some of his recent breakthroughs in solar and alternative biomass energy, because she can hold a more interesting conversation about it with her own interests, however limited her actual knowledge might be. Sylaise seems to be losing interest as it drags on, and when Selene turns to try to draw her back in, her eyes catch on something in the corner instead.

Some _one_.

Someone who is staring at her.

 

“Who is that?” She asks quietly, eyes darting to the form in the corner and back to Sylaise.

Sylaise follows her gaze and tsks.

“That’s my brother,” She sighs. “I keep inviting him hoping he might get more accustomed to being  _out,_ but it’s just been a lost cause so far. He just hides in corners until he can leave, and the man dresses like he’s allergic to colors.”

“His tie is blue,” Selene notes.

“ _Barely,_ ” Sylaise scoffs.

 

Selene hums and resumes her role, brushing her arm lightly over Sylaise’ own. Another hour passes, and Selene manages to decline an invitation to follow them home, instead opting for an afternoon lunch in a week.

It’s no good if they decide to be done with her so quickly, after all.

 

Still, she lingers. Interest piqued by… _something_ , in the brother. Something worth investigating.

 

He is standing awkwardly at the fringes of a circle of other well-tailored elves when she steps in.

“Sorry,” She smiles, looping her arm through his. “I just need to borrow Dirthamen for a moment, if it’s no trouble.”

The elves wave dismissively as she escorts him towards a balcony; he looks like someone in desperate need of fresh air.

 

“You know my name?” He asks, once she pulls her arm back to herself.

“Your sister told me,” She hums, leaning back on the railing. “Does that bother you?”

“Only in that I do not know your name in return,” he admits.

“My name is Somnivar,” She offers.

“You mean your pen name,” He points out.

The corner of her mouth curves up slightly. “The name I’m willing to give.”

He seems to accept that, at least.

 

“I am surprised you did not go home with my sister and her husband,” He finally says, shifting around and radiating nerves. “They seemed quite taken with you.”

“Do you always expect people to immediately sleep with those who are taken with them?”

“It is not an uncommon occurrence.”

“Been 'taken’ many times yourself then I’d assume?”

“Not as such, no.”

 

Selene frowns, shifting around. “Really? But you’re so…” She gestures vaguely to him, her facade falling for a moment.

“I am not a sought after individual in those regards. I do not mind.”

“That can’t be right,” She snorts.

 

Dirthamen blinks at her curiously. “You seem…different. Are you inebriated?”

“Did you see me drink anything?” She asks, knowing the answer _._

He shakes his head.

“Then inebriation would be  _quite_  a feat.”

He smiles slightly at that. She asks him about his work, and he informs her that he handles accounts and financials for the family business, which leads into further questions and discussions into mathematical fields, and their actual interests and it’s like a breath of fresh air to discuss things that  _she_  is into, rather than Somnivars interests.

 

It’s not… _wise_ , to fraternize so comfortably with someone so closely connected to a mark.

 

By the time the chill in the air is starting to set into her skin, the party has long ended. The hall is devoid of people, only remnants of the buffet table and scattered empty glasses remain. Waiting for the morning cleaning crew she supposes.

 

She laces her fingers through his, as they step back inside of the building, and spins around to face him.

“How would you feel if I told you I were 'taken’ with you?” she hums.

The tips of his ears turn a darker shade of red, this time from something other than a late night wind as he seems to struggle to find words.

“I…would be curious where you would take me.” he says, tongue darting absently over his top lip.

 

Selene grins, her other hand looping through his tie as she pulls him down the hall and into one of the emptied rooms, the doors swinging inward behind her.

“This seems as good a place as any,” She murmurs as the back of her knees make contact with a mattress, pulling him down with her as she falls backwards onto it.

His mouth opens with a gasp at the sudden change in direction, his balance failing him as he nearly topples onto her. But Selene is used to far worse in her partners, and takes advantage of the moment to cover his mouth with her own, her tongue grazing over his while she swallows his gasp and he braces himself with his arms in enough time to keep from knocking the wind out of her. She grins against him in approval, releasing his hand from her grip to untuck the bottom of his shirt. He groans as her fingers make contact with bare skin, and it doesn’t take long from there for her to realize this will work better if she takes charge.

Tie still in her fist, she pushes him back to standing, spinning the two of them until their positions are reversed, and releasing the satin leash in time to gently nudge him back onto the bed.

She goes back to the kissing, because he seems to enjoy it and she certainly has no complaints. It’s much easier to unbutton his shirt from the position, and she pulls her mouth from his once she’s successfully revealed a large swath of skin to explore.

He shivers with each touch, each graze of her nails, each taste from her tongue, and it doesn’t take long for him to be shuddering just from the brush of her hair against the soft skin of his stomach.

She hums, taking the button of his pants between her teeth, belt long forgotten and lost to the limited lighting of their room. She pulls down on the zipper slowly, purposely, eyes holding contact with his own until she’s completed her task, hands cupping his calves tenderly to tug off the rest of the pants.

 

She giggles despite herself, at the sight revealed.

“Your drawers are pink,” She grins.

He blushes, a sight only enhanced by his newly revealed and straining underclothes.

“Is that strange?”

“No,” She assures him, hand grasping at the tented section in a way that only makes him gasp again. “I think it’s  _wonderful_.”

Wonderful enough she actually leaves them on when she takes him in her mouth, savoring his moans and gasps and the way he twists with each motion. She enjoys it enough she almost regrets that he doesn’t have her real name when he comes, breathing out her alias instead.

 

She doesn’t stay for their private after party; it’s already too late, and she’s already far too fond of him.

Still.

She slips one of her work cell numbers into his hand with a final, parting kiss. Just in case he’d like to do something like this again.

And he  _does_ , it turns out.

 

She has to contain her smile when at the next event they both attend, he wears a different tie; one as pink as his drawers had been that night.

The rest of the party is still spent with June and Sylaise of course; it’s still her job, and that has to take priority. But it’s a simple matter to book a room at a nearby hotel, and to text him the information if he’d like to join her.

They pass nearly eight events that way.

 

They don’t always make it to the hotel. Sometimes all they can manage is a few fleeting touches or stolen moments in closets and empty hallways that leave him  _aching_  for their next encounter before she has to return.

She’s fairly certain he almost likes those  _better_.

 

Sylaise notices her brothers change in demeanor, as well as the recent colorful additions to his wardrobe.

“I’m not sure what’s changed,” She muses between sips of her wine. “But something certainly has. Not that I’m complaining! It’s marvelous to finally have a sibling I can take out without being embarrassed. You wouldn’t happen to know, would you Somnivar?”

 

Selene blinks innocently, taking a small sip of her own cranberry and tonic water. “How would I know about something like that?”

“Because he’s asked about you,” Sylaise grins. “He’s practically eager for events, if he knows you’ll be present. I’d say he’s got a crush, if he weren’t quite so hopeless about it. Not that he could do much even if he weren’t…”

“Why’s that?” Selene asks, still pretending to be barely interested.

“The other brother,” June mutters. “They’re both assholes, but his brothers even worse, somehow.”

“And very possessive of Dirthamen’s time and attentions,” Sylaise nods. “Always has been.”

“That sounds unfortunate.”

“It is,” Sylaise continues with a dramatic sigh “Sometimes I wonder if Dirthamen might have been happy, if Falon'din weren’t constantly attacking him.”

“…Physically?” Selene asks while mentally reminding herself to stay in character.

Sylaise and June both nod with features that suggest it is not an uncommon occurrence, either.

“That sounds  _very_  unfortunate.” Selene nods back, recalling the bruises she’d found on Dirthamen in the past and brushed over.

Sloppy, on her part.

Maybe she could manage  _one_  more free job without kicking up a fuss…

 

–

It’s another month before their mother appears at one of the events.

Selene nearly spits out the drink in her mouth when they are introduced.

  
Mythal Evanuris ( _Flemeth_ , according to the contract papers in her desk drawer) raises an eyebrow, perfectly manicured nails pulling back slightly in distaste.

“…Charmed.” The older woman greets.

Selene apologizes, slipping quickly back into character as Somnivar and attempting to charm her way back into the womans good graces.

The woman who definitely put out the hit on June in the first place.

The woman who will be signing the check when Selenes job is done.

The woman who does not know that  _she_  knows.

 

Selene has never had to stand directly between the mark and the contractor before.

She doesn’t think she’d like to do it again.

…It  _does_  clear quite a few things up for her, though.

 

–

Later in the evening, she lingers in the hotel bed with Dirthamen.

  
“Is it easier for you this way?” She tries, fumbling awkwardly through the words, remnants of her dress straps broken in her hands.

Dirthamen blinks up at her in confusion. “The…sex?”

“No, not the sex. I mean, not  _just_  the sex-I mean…Our…” she hesitates, struggling not to use the word  _relationship_.

“…us.” she finishes lamely.

 

“Oh.” He says, sitting up, blankets falling away from his chest as he leans back against the headboards. She’s left a mark on accident, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the least. “I do not mind it. I think I would enjoy a date, if possible. You always leave as soon as you feel it is necessary, so I had thought that perhaps you disliked me outside of a sexual context.”

She leans into his side, puffing out one side of her cheek as she contemplates her options. “I wouldn’t do this with you if I only liked you in a sexual context. Certainly not as often as we have been.”

He hums in pleasure against the side of her head, and she feels his lips curving into a smile at her reassurance. It makes her feel warm in a pleasantly fuzzy way, still sated from their last round.

 

_Shouldn’t have gotten so close,_  she berates herself.  _Now it’s gone and gotten complicated._

 

“If I could…” She hesitates for a moment, wondering how subtle she should be about things before deciding to toss it out the window the way he had tossed her stockings earlier. “If I could get rid of the main obstacles to us being together publicly…would you like that?”

“Which obstacles do you think those would be?”

“Your brother,” She waits a beat and adds. “And your mother, though that’s for an entirely different reason.”

“What do you know of my brother?”

“I know he’s hurt you-and don’t defend him!-I know he’s hurt you, and I know you worry, and if I could fix things…”

“I do not want him to hurt you.”

“He won’t,” Selene assures him, resisting the urge to laugh at the concept.

“But you-”

“Can handle myself. I  _promise_.”

 

Dirthamen sighs, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He always ends up extra cuddly when he’s stressed, she’s noticed.

“I am not ashamed of being with you,” He assures her. “If you would like to make our relationship public, I would not be against that.”

Selene nods, feeling a blush of her own crawling slowly up her chest as the warmth from earlier begins to spread.

“Well. Good then. I’ll…get to work on things.”

–

 

Selene has been to June and Sylaises home before. For dinner and drinks and other private affairs, though she has always made a point to leave before events could turn to more… _intimate_  interactions.

 

But today Sylaise is at work, and June is home alone. Selene knows this when she knocks, before he tells her, before she asks to come inside anyways.

Before she opens her bag, and takes out the folder with his contract in it.

 

“Is everything alright Somnivar…?” He asks, staring at the folder while she positions herself on the edge of his kitchen counters

She lets out a breath.

“Ok. First things first; my name isn’t Somnivar. That was a lie; I actually only approached you and Sylaise in the first place because I’m being paid to kill you.”

June reaches for the nearest kitchen knife and Selene waves her hand dismissively. “Calm down hotshot, if I were going through with it, I wouldn’t be here with an offer for you instead.”

June hesitates, some of the tension falling out of his shoulders before he asks her to continue. 

Kitchen knife still in hand.

 

“I like Dirthamen,” She admits. “A lot. Like..a  _lot_. We’ve been together for a little while now, and I want to be with him publicly. From what I understand, I  _may_  need a little help to manage that. Which is where  _you_  come in. You’ve already met with his family, you’ve been a part of it for years, and I need an in. Sylaise is probably going to strongly dislike me when she finds out I’ve been lying, so that won’t be great for me right away. You can ease that over time, I’m sure. Explain that it’s an extra head at the table to take your side in arguments, to help with…I don’t know. Whatever you end up needing, I guess. I  _do_  like you two, in the way someone in my position in life can like people with your positions, enough that I’d like to keep that alliance, if its all the same to you. Anyway, to cut to the chase; I’m willing to write off your contract, in exchange for your help.”

“If you think I can help you win favor in this family, you’ve come to the wrong person,” June scoffs. “They all hate me, except for Sylaise.”

“Oh I  _know_  Mythal hates you,” Selene nods, licking her thumb and paging through the folder. “That is  _abundantly_  clear.”

June frowns, reaching out for the folder before Selene raises it high above her head and out of his reach.

 

“Ah ah ah,” She teases. “For my eyes only. I can’t breach confidentiality by showing you these. I assume mother-in-law didn’t approve of the marriage? My guess is it got re-pinged when you and Sylaise started playing the 'possible grandchildren’ card every time you needed something with Elgar'nan. Sloppy sloppy you two.”

“Do you think Dirthamen is going to approve of you blackmailing your way into a relationship with him?” June accuses.

 

Selene raises an eyebrow, head tilting to the side slightly.  “Is this the part where I pretend not to know that blackmailing is a large portion of his own job description? Honestly, if the blackmail ranks higher than the 'I kill people for a living’ issue, we’ll probably have a lot of long talks to deal with down the line. But he took the news ok last night when I told him my real name. I think we’ll be alright. He’s probably digging into a bunch of my sealed files already, while I’m here with you. We’re getting off topic though; are you going to help me or not?”

“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” June reiterates. “Even if I can somehow help you curry favor with Elgar'nan or Mythal, I don’t have any idea what to do about Falon'din.”

“Well, I was just going to kill him,” Selene shrugs. “I mean, I’ll give him the option to leave of his own accord. But I’ve been digging through his history and so far I’m leaning  _pretty hard_  towards killing him. I’ll probably need your help with that, too. An alibi, at the very least.”

“Or I could just report you,” June threatens. “What makes you think I wouldn’t just turn you in?”

“Because they let just about anyone volunteer at Saint Ebris Hospital these days.”

 

She waits and watches while the realization and threat of her words wash over him. 

His grip tightens on the kitchen knife again.

“ _If you lay a hand on my father_ -”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” She assures him, letting his own mind do the wandering. 

In truth, she’s already visited Haninan on a few occasions, and its one of the reasons she’s decided to offer June a way out of the contract. All she had actually done was sneak him a few extra snacks and discussed the books on his nightstand with him, but it’s usually better to let the threat marinate in the mystery in situations like these. Saying 'yeah he wants my chicken recipe’ might make them sound a bit…hollow, otherwise.

 

“So…” She says, fanning herself lightly with the folder. “You in?”


	16. Bachelor Auction AU

Bachelor auctions are weird.

Vena had never heard of them before the firm’s latest charity event, to be honest. He gathers they’re pretty common in the Free Marches, and Orlais and Ferelden, too. Among the humans there, anyway. A good percentage of him is intensely suspicious of any kind of ‘charity event’ that involves buying people for fun, but, Serahlin assures him that it’s just symbolic. A date, not a sex thing. Although it is also kind of a sex thing, judging by all the flirting and joking going around.

Ostensibly, that’s why they usually just sell men for these sorts of events. Because humans are weird about gender, too. The firm is Arlathan based, though, so they decide their ‘bachelor’ auction is just going to be in name only.

Well, Vena doesn’t really get the appeal. But he gets the rules. All willing and eligible singles in the firm are expected to show up and let people bid on a date with them. Vena’s done worse things for less noble causes, and everyone seems flatteringly certain that he’ll net a small fortune. Plus, Tasallir  _really_  does not want to do it. He makes his ‘oh gods no shoot me now’ face whenever the subject comes up, which is a little deer-in-headlights-ish, to be honest. Vena loudly declaring that he’s going to not only participate but bring in the biggest bids usually deflects things back into the realms of comfortable eye-rolling.

And he’s not alone on the bidding block, either. Serahlin has signed herself up, along with Thenvunin from reception, and the new temp, and like half the janitorial staff. Plus the boss’ own brother. Mostly, Vena thinks, they all just want to have the fancy evening out. Everyone dresses up nice and practices their struts and poses beforehand. Vena decides to wear suspenders. Not the trendiest, but they look good on him and he can use them like a prop to make provocative gestures. Gestures that also look funny, of course, because he’s not  _actually_  for sale.

Sylaise woldn’t  _actually_  pimp them all out.

…Probably.

“Are you going to bid on me?” he asks Taz when they’re heading over. Waggling his eyebrows, while Tasallir keeps his gaze firmly on the road, and obeys all the traffic laws, and doesn’t even go through the red light when there is literally NO ONE coming for miles come on Tasallir FOR MILES. But ‘traffic laws are not suggestions’, and something something breaking laws utter chaos something, so Vena settles for teasing him instead.

Taz sighs.

“I already promised Serahlin I would buy her date,” he says. “We are going to my favourite restaurant up on Fifth. And then on to the theatre. If I have enough leftover after that, I will buy you, and you can come along too. If you  _behave.”_

Vena lets out a low whistle.

“I don’t know, I’ve been led to believe I’m going to be expensive. Not really third wheel material,” he quips.

“I thought that was office sarcasm,” Taz replies, dry as the desert.

  
Vena smacks a hand to his chest.

“You  _wound_  me, sir. You  _wound me.”_

They trade a few barbs for the rest of the way. Vena trying to cover up some of his nerves as they look for parking, because there isn’t a parking attendant at this thing and also because Tasallir probably wouldn’t trust them with his car even if there was. They’re perfectly on time, though. Vena even has a few minutes to dash into the bathroom and double check his hair. He braided it in a more traditional style for the event, something from the Dalish side of his family. A look mostly cobbled together from old family photos that he got from an ancestry website, and then several tutorials that looked like they fit the bill. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Vena’s a little nervous that it’s not ‘fashionable’ enough for Sylaise’s standards.

She’s a pretty demanding boss.

But she pays very,  _very_  well, so he usually just tries to go with it. It beats following the family plans, anyway.

The auction is at a night club owned by Sylaise’s family. A classy night club, too, one that was established in her grandparents’ days, when ‘club’ meant champagne and crooners and softly glittering magelights, more talking than dancing and more live shows than DJ’s. Vena’s got nothing against the more modern style of clubbing, but there’s something to be said for the highbrow kind, too. For one thing, the decor is  _gorgeous._  If a bit weird. There is a lot of velvet and clam shells, and there are some truly glorious jokes waiting in that, but the music is soft enough to talk over and the lighting is good enough to see everyone’s outfits.

The ‘bachelors’ are expected to mill around with the guests for the first half of the evening. Try and build up interest and sell themselves and all that. Vena mostly sticks with Tasallir as the event gets underway, though.

He tells himself that he’s trying to play up the ‘dark and mysterious’ angle. But truth be told, Sylaise’s brother is probably cornering that market, and his reluctance probably has more to do with the unexpectedly high number of magisters who’ve turned out for the auction. ‘For charity’, everyone agrees, but Vena can’t help feeling like there’s something gauche about their obvious delight in the prospect of bidding on Arlathan elves.

There are other people at the club too, though.

Serahlin spends a good chunk of time chatting with a handsome blond elf, who Vena recognizes from some celebrity gossip magazines. Ada-something, he thinks. The jewellery designer, the one who did that infamous ‘moving snake’ necklace that Melarue wore to the Elven Prominence Awards last fall.

Several of the firm’s more high-profile clientele are present too, of course, including Rala Inirel, the owner of Arlathan’s largest adult toy company. Vena has handled several of Ms Inirel’s accounts, and drags Tasallir over for some polite small talk. The face of Wonder, Sylaise’s sister-in-law’s little inventor’s guild, is also around.

Among the less familiar faces, Vena spots a striking, pale-haired woman dressed in a silver gown. Her date is a petite redhead, who he thinks might be throwing him some glances. He can’t put names to their faces, so he doesn’t venture over. But he does offer up a wink when he catches her eye at one point. She’s pretty. More subtly dressed than most of the club’s occupants, and with a Dalish-style clip in her hair. Or what he thinks is one, anyway.

There’s also a man who Vena  _thinks_  might actually be a member of House Pavus, in among the magisters. But he’s still largely skirting around that contingent when there is a slight commotion at the entrance. It draws a few eyes. Vena and Taz are still at Rala Inirel’s table when they turn, and see their boss’  _other_  brother make his way in.

Falon’Din Evanuris bears a stronger resemblance to his younger sister than he does to his twin brother, but you’d have to look closely to see it. Especially when Sylaise isn’t dying her hair blonde. The Evanuris heir is notorious for his disruptive behaviour. Vena still remembers getting stabbed by him, on one particular occasion. It doesn’t do a lot to help his nerves.

But tonight he’s wearing a suit. His hair is combed back, and apart from throwing a glare around the room, his only real action is to find an unoccupied table and sit it in. One of the club servers brings him a menu and a bidding paddle, and just gets waved off rather than snarled at.

A few murmurs spread through the assembled attendees anyway.

Vena looks towards his boss, and it turns out to be good timing. She catches his eye and motions with her head, before moving towards the stage.

Ah.

The auction’s not supposed to start for another half hour, but apparently invading relatives have bumped up the time frame. He nods at Tasallir and Ms Inirel before excusing himself from the table, and taps the shoulder of every other ‘bachelor’ he passes on the way to the front stage. Serahlin is already headed there, towing along Thenvunin from reception and most of the rest of the volunteers. The others seem to pick up on the trend and make their own way over, as Sylaise gracefully calls for attention to the stage by ringing her empty champagne flute with a spoon.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary guests, if I could have your attention for a moment please,” she requests. “It seems dinner was too delicious by far, and flew by all the more quickly for it. In light of the lull, I see no reason why we cannot get the charity highlight of the evening underway.”

Vena’s sure that more than a few people in the crowd aren’t buying the excuse. But the cue is accepted anyway, and the guests settle down at their tables as Vena and the other volunteers queue up along the back of the stage. Falon’Din Evanuris glares at his sister, but doesn’t otherwise move. Tasallir keeps his seat at Rala Inirel’s table, and the mysterious redhead and her date settle into the empty one behind Falon’Din. Along with a few other notorious gossip-mongers, and the famous jeweler. The guests from Tevinter largely fill up the other half of the club. A few more drinks are refilled, as the lighting is changed to highlight the stage.

“Our first bidding option is Sten,” Sylaise begins, as she summons her script with a flourish of magic. Sten, from the janitorial group, moves forward at the cue. “From our building maintenance crew. A humble but vital position to any operation, Sten is the only Vashoth bachelor on our list. So I would keep those paddles at the ready if your tastes run to the exotic and statuesque. Sten is a sword enthusiast who enjoys exercise, and is offering a date to Arlathan’s premiere Ancient Reenactment Fair…”

Sten obligingly rotates himself at the front of the stage, and gets a fair few bidders once Sylaise has finished his introduction. Their boss has ordered things to try and maximize the build-up, so a few more of the less ‘known’ volunteers carry on with kicking things off. The magister crowd take over the early bidding, as the audience throws in the occasional clap or wolf whistle. Vena takes some deep breaths and focuses on his routine.  _Be charming,_  he reminds himself.  _It’s all for fun._

For charity, even.

Thenvunin from reception gets to the front of the stage and looks like a deer caught in headlights, despite his best efforts not to. One of Sylaise’s in-laws, a striking figure in all red, puts in the winning bid for his ‘scenic bird watching’ date. Then it’s Serahlin’s turn.

“One of the most successful family law experts in our employ, and a stunning beauty besides, Serahlin enjoys theatre, fine dining, and grinding her enemies beneath the points of her impeccable heels. Our office ice queen has promised a rejuvenating spa date to her winning bidder - and perhaps an opportunity to help her defrost,” Sylaise announces.

Serahlin’s smile looks a bit pinned on, at that, but she still gracefully turns and offers an elegant bow towards the club floor.

Tasallir puts in the first bid on her. He’s immediately countered by the prestigious jeweler, in what sets off the first heated, one-on-one bidding war of the night. It puts a crackle of excitement in the air, even if Vena knows that Taz is bidding as a friend. Once or twice someone else throws in a bid, seemingly drawn in by the air of competition itself. But the jeweler himself just seems pleasantly determined to win, and eventually Taz caps out at five hundred dollars, and the cheery blond elf wins his date for a solid six.

Vena wonders if anyone’s going to top that tonight.

And then Sylaise calls her brother up onto the stage.

Dirthamen seems set to play up the ‘mysterious’ angle again, as he stands stock still and doesn’t turn. In fact he barely even moves his arms as Sylaise reads out a spiel about him liking books and masquerades and offering, as his date, an evening tour through the Labyrinthine Gardens and an exclusive chance to dine in the maze’s fashionable center restaurant, which Vena knows requires reservations a full year in advance.

The date  _alone_  is probably going to merit high bidding, so no one is surprised when there’s an initial flurry of interest. Dirthamen surpasses Serahlin’s record before the bids finally start to taper off near the eight hundred dollar mark. Three bidders keep things going past a thousand, though - the white-haired elf in the silver dress, Magister Danarius from Tevinter, and Falon’Din Evanuris.

_See,_  Vena thinks, as the guy aggressive bids against everyone trying to buy his twin’s date.  _This is why the tabloids always write those stories about you two._

Magister Danarius caps out at the two thousand dollar mark. Falon’Din turns to glare at the white-haired elf who outbids him again, and looks near to throwing one of his iconic tantrums. Sylaise stares directly at her older brother with a look that could peel paint, though, and after a moment, he subsides with nothing worse than a curse word. Apparently at his max, as his rival wins the date with his brother for a hefty two-thousand and four hundred dollars.

If Dirthamen’s surprised, it doesn’t really show on his blank expression. Though as he passes by Vena to go and sit with the winner, there does some to be a slight furrow to his brow.

“Well,” Sylaise says. “I’m so pleased at the wealth of charity we’ve been seeing! Let’s keep the ball rolling, shall we?”

There are a few chuckles. Falon’Din gets up and exits dramatically from the club, as Sylaise pointedly clears her throat.

“Venavismi,” she calls.

_Tough act to follow,_  Vena thinks. But he can see some of the cracks in his employer’s smile. So he strides confidently up to the front of the stage, and does his best twirl. He focuses on his showboating as Sylaise reads his introduction; snapping his suspenders and rolling up his jacket sleeves. And effect which he knows does his silhouette a lot of favours.

“Venavismi has promised his winning bidder a day trip out of the city, for a relaxing beach trip featuring lunch at the Stormward Open Air Grill. Shall we start the bidding at eighty?”

Magister Danarius is the first to lift his paddle.

Vena wonders if there are laws against reneging on charity dates.

There are some whispers over from Dirthamen’s table, though, and after a minute, the same woman who won the date with Sylaise’s brother puts her paddle up.

“Ninety,” she offers.

There are some titters over that. Dirthamen doesn’t seem perturbed, but the woman’s current date - the cute redhead - blushes right to the roots of her hair.

“I have ninety. Do I have a hundred?” Sylaise asks.

Tasallir bids.

_Thank you, buddy,_  Vena thinks.

“A hundred twenty?” Sylaise ventures.

“One-thirty,” Danarius offers.

“One-fifty,” the white-haired woman counters, with a broad grin. Her date glances up towards Vena, still blushing. But after a second, she ventures a wink towards him, too.

Ooh.

Vena thinks he might be charmed. She doesn’t have a paddle, though, he realizes. Is her friend bidding on her behalf…?

That might not be so bad.

“One-sixty,” Danarius bids.

“One-seventy,” Taz counters, like a hero.

“Two hundred,” declares the white-haired woman.

Vena thinks that might be it. But the magister seems set on redeeming his losses over Dirthamen, so he bids again. Taz counters him. The white-haired woman out-bids Taz. Vena tries to keep from fidgeting on stage as the numbers get higher, and some dark corner of his brain wonders if there isn’t something innate that really  _hates this,_  like some genetic corner that remembers when his paternal ancestors were standing on serious auction blocks in Tevinter. Because  _gods above_  he cannot remember being this uncomfortable before in his life.

He loses focus for a minute and by the time he tunes back in, his bids have somehow reached the five hundreds.

“Five-hundred and eighty,” the white-haired woman says, as Danarius virtually grinds his bidding sign into dust in his hand, and Taz gives Vena an apologetic look. He’s tapped out, but that’s okay. Vena’s dates are pretty good, but not really  _that_  good.

“Any more takers?” Sylaise asks, looking thoroughly pleased with the bidding war.

Danarius’ paddle stays down.

“Sold!” his boss happily decrees, and gestures towards the white-haired woman. “To one of our most charitable contributors of the evening!”

Her tone dips in admiration.

Vena’s not sure how he’s supposed to respond to his boss kind of blatantly flirting with the unknown business associate who just bought him. He makes his way down from the stage, for starters, as she moves on to the next sap for the chopping block. Serahlin pats his hand as he passes her to go over to his winning bidder’s table.

It helps, actually. Vena’s found his smile and a bit of his equilibrium again by the time he gets there.

“Well, I must admit - I thought you’d won your date for the evening,” he says, as the redhead scoots a chair one open between herself and her date. Dirthamen sits at the white-haired woman’s opposite side. She smiles, and gestures for Vena to sit.

“And I must admit that I did,” she tells him. “But my friend thought you were too cute to pass up, so I got your date as a gift. I’m Selene.”

Reaching over, she shakes his hand, and then gestures towards the redhead.

“This is Ana.”

Vena offers his hand to Ana. She might still be blushing, but she also turns it like a proper, polite admirer, and bows over it rather than shaking it.

“I like your braids,” she blurts.

He grins, unabashed.

More and  _more_  charming, this Ana.

“Thank you. I like your freckles,” he commends, with another wink. It seems effective, as she lets of his hand with a nervous flutter, and turns to stare at the crumpled napkin on the table in front of her.

“I must apologize,” Vena realizes, as he scoots his own chair more comfortably close to the table. Keeping his voice low, beneath the sound of Sylaise’s auctioning. “I don’t really know either of your names. Have you hired the firm before?”

“Oh, no,” Selene admits. “But Mythal Evanuris sometimes hires myself and Ana to do contract work.”

“Ah,” he says. “Well that would explain it. What sort of work do you do?”

“Human resources,” Selene says.

Vena blinks.

His first thought is that Human Resources isn’t usually contract work. But then, maybe they’re head-hunters? The business equivalent of talent scouts for the various branches of the Evanuris corporate empire? That would make sense. It probably takes a lot of work to find the right people for various positions throughout those businesses, definitely enough to make for full-time work. He lets the questions subside as the bidding starts up, and takes several minutes to appreciate that he didn’t end up over at the magisters’ tables.

By the end of the evening, all the dates have been bought for at least respectable amounts, and the charity pot looks quite healthy. The public relations pot is probably even healthier. The lighting shifts and the last round of refreshments are brought out, as Sylaise encourages everyone to mingle and flirt and get to know their  _wonderful_  dates and  _charitable_  bidders.

“We should exchange contact information,” Dirthamen suggests, tentatively.

“Well you and I just need a meeting place, really,” Selene says. “But I won’t say no to your number. Why don’t you escort me to the washroom, and we’ll discuss it?”

She takes Dirthamen by the arm, and leads him off with a nod to Ana, and then one to Vena, too.

Leaving them alone to get acquainted.

“I made some tentative reservations for the weekend after next, at the beach bar and grill, but we can move it around to whatever time you like,” he offers. “Or do something else. We don’t actually  _have_  to go on a beach date. It’s just a strong suggestion.”

“I like beaches,” Ana tells him.

She looks like she might just be laughing at him a little. But Vena can roll with that. He grins back.

“Good excuse to wear bathing suits,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t mind seeing yours, I bet it’s cute.”

She hums at him.

“Well, I’m Dalish, so. Our bathing suits tend to be the invisible kind.”

Vena’s grin widens in delight. He suspected, from her tattoos, but the confirmation is nice.

“I could get on board with that,” he says, flirting back. “But I don’t think it’s a nude beach. Maybe I should buy you a suit, to cover the unexpected expense. We could make it two dates. One to go shopping and the other to show off the goods.”

Ana’s blush comes back. He’s happy to see it.

“Maybe three - you might not have picked a nude beach, but I know of a few.”

She gives him a once-over, but it’s entirely playful. Vena doesn’t mind in the least. Now that the bidding part is done, he basically just has a nice date planned with a pretty stranger - not a bad situation at all.

They chat a bit more. Working out dates and times; Ana admits she  _does_  have a swimsuit, and when he tries to talk her into a shopping trip anyway, she demures a little. Which is fine; they can have their beach date and go from there, in the end. One of his clients is an Anna, so he puts her into his contacts as Dalish Ana. Which seems a little dry. Vena supposes he’ll have to come up with something more fun, when the inspiration strikes.

“Do you like to dance?” he asks, for the meanwhile. The music’s not loud, but it’s still pretty good; and a few couples have tentatively made their way onto the dance floor.

Ana looks at him.

There’s a pleasantly flirtatious glint in her eye.

“Why not?” she agrees.


	17. Blind Date AU

She doesn’t put it together until he is dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. When his eyes glance up to look at her, the lighting hits his slate blue eyes  _just so_ , and she feels the memories come rushing back.

The costume party.

The masked man.

Her poorly planned drunken make-out session.

 

Selene hadn’t expected to ever see  _anyone_  from that party again. Some woman at the law firm Serahlin worked for had given her an invitation on her way out from dropping off a borrowed pair of shoes. It was filled with people who were dressed in tailor cut designer clothing, non-costumed jewelry, and pairs of shoes that easily cost more than her rent and were most assuredly  _not_  borrowed from their financially better off friends.

Selene suddenly thinks she knows  _exactly_  where Serahlin found her blind date for their agreement.

 

…Should she mention it? Would it just make things awkward, now?

_‘Hey, remember when we met six months ago; I had way too much tequila and you had your hand up my shirt? We should do that again sometime maybe.’_

…What if he  **already**  knows?

She slumps slightly in her chair, mind running quickly through all the potential worst-case scenarios.

 

“Selene?” Dirthamen asks, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Yes? Sorry. I just-I spaced for a moment, sorry. What were you saying?”

“Would you like to order some dessert?”

“Uh…” She hesitates, glancing briefly up at their waiter before back to the man across from her and pointedly not thinking about what his tongue tasted like. “Sure.”

“What would you like?”

“Whatever’s…good,” She says lamely. “Surprise me.”

 

Dirthamen makes some sort of motion to the waiter -Selene realizing all at once that what she thought was an expensive restaurant meant to impress her is actually just one of his Regular places to eat- who promptly vanishes with a nod and a slight bow.

 

“Are you alright?” He asks after another minute of awkward silence.

Selene hesitates, unsure of how to answer that.

 

_Sure, but I think you’re **way**  richer than I am._

_Sure, but I think Serahlin is trying to pull something over on me (which isn’t fair, my friend Adannar is perfect for her and I was absolutely supposed to have the upper hand in this matchmaker game)._ _  
_

_Sure, but I think I pulled your zipper down with my teeth once, d'you remember that?_ _  
_

 

“Sure,” She says, letting it linger alone between them.

 

Another minute passes before the waiter returns with a martini glass filled with chocolate mousse, a strawberry sliced into the shape of a rose placed delicately in the center of it.

“The mousse here is very good,” Dirthamen informs her, handing her one of the small spoons and waiting for her to take the first bite.

 

Selene hesitates, spoon hovering just over the dessert before she lets out a sigh and clinks it down on their table.

“Did you go to a costume party? About six months ago?”

 

He blinks.

His eyebrows crinkle slightly.

And then he nods.

“Yes. One of my sisters. Why do you ask?”

 

Selene opens her mouth before closing it again.

Opens.

Closes.

She blows out a small puff of air through the corner of her mouth.

“Ok, first of all, I don’t drink very often. But I was very uncomfortable in the setting, and when I get nervous I need something to do with my hands and they just kept refilling my cup that night and it was a whole….” She gesture vaguely in the air in front of her. “I don’t know. I don’t usually run off with people and like…'hook up’. And I know everyone says that they never do that, but really, I really don’t! I mean-I’m not like passing judgment if  _you_  do, though. I just mean-I’m not like…” She groans and puts her face in her hands. “Oh, I’m doing this all wrong.”

 

His head tilts slightly in consideration.

“You were the woman in the silver mask,” He infers.

“…Yes.”

 

He nods.

“That does put a slightly different perspective on this date.”

“Yes,”

“It is still very good mousse.”

 

Selene laughs slightly, some of the tension falling out of her as she scoops out a small bite of the chocolate dessert.

It is delicious, she has to admit.

 

The remainder of the date is surprisingly casual. Without the fear of him remembering lingering over her, Selene feels much more at ease, enough so that she agrees to let him drive her back to her apartment.

 

He walks her up the three flights of stairs, and she debates whether or not to invite him in while she turns her key in the lock. She turns to face him, door unlocked and one hand on the knob while she licks her lips.

“I had a great time,” She manages.

“I did as well,” Dirthamen agrees, thankfully almost equally awkward in the empty hallway.

“We should do this again sometime.”

“Yes, I think that would be nice,” He nods.

 

There’s another moment of silence while she summons her courage.

“Would you like to come in for some coffee?” she blurts. Not that it’s a subtle innuendo, but…well…they have sort of conquered some of those barriers already, really.

 

He blinks. “It is very late for caffeine consumption.”

Selene grins, and bites down on her bottom lip slightly.

_Oh, dear._

 

“Would you like to come in and pointedly  _not_  have coffee?” she tries again.

It clicks this time, at least, as his face turns a lovely shade of pink from the tips of his ears down the length of his neck.

“Yes,” He says, tongue darting out to lick at his lips briefly. “I think I would.”

 

Selene grins, hand wrapping loosely through his tie as she gently pulls him into her apartment with her, making a silent prayer that her roommate isn’t home.

The door clicks closed behind him.

Six months of missed time to catch up on…

Well.

They should probably get started then.


	18. Hereditary Marriage Contract AU

Selene hesitates, standing still in the late afternoon heat before two over-sized and over-decorated wooden doors. The imagery bears a resemblance to some of the stories she’s grown up with, of gods and tricksters and cities in the sky, but it still feels just slightly  _off._ Like some version of her peoples pantheon has been bastardized for the sake of some weird form of propaganda.

_Surely, a sign of good things to come_ , she thinks sarcastically.

 

She presses the almost hilariously small in comparison doorbell, and waits.

Her father had been a pain in the ass in life; somehow it seems only fitting that he continue the trend after his death. Selene had nearly trekked back to Var Bellanaris to dig him up and turn him to ash herself when they had uncovered his lingering debts. Some remnant from Elrogathes days before he joined clan Lavellan; when he was still young, and hot tempered, and impulsive. When he had promised his first born in some ridiculously long contract to what is, to the best of her knowledge, some sort of mob-like family.

Not that he had ever  _told_  her about it.

Twenty three years and never so much as a  _‘hey, you should probably know I traded you for an apprenticeship once, so that might come back around for you one day. Sorry!_ ’

With a little luck, these people will see what a ridiculous idea a hereditary marriage contract is, and she can go on with her life.

 

The doors swing inward, revealing an older elven woman with bright yellow eyes and well-earned wrinkles in her brow, who looks at her as shrewdly as if she were some sort of unwelcome dog defecating on her porch.

 

“Hello,” Selene tries anyways. “I’m here because of a contract my father signed around thirty years ago. If I could just get the head of the family to sign off that it’s forgiven, I can go ahead and get out of your hair.”

 

The woman’s countenance changes immediately as she holds out a hand expectantly. Selene quickly rifles through her bag and pulls out the slightly crumpled bundle of papers to deposit them in the outstretched palm. She shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot while the older woman skims through the papers before clicking her tongue.

“You’re Elrogathes child?”

“That’s correct.”

“You are late,” She tsks, motioning for Selene to finally enter the mansion. She presses a button in the entryway, and moves further into the house. “Half of my children are already married. You will have to marry one of my sons. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, but-”

“A shame, but one we will contend with.”

Selene can hear the shuffling of footsteps as they come to a stop at the base of a large staircase, the motifs from the door clearly carried through to the interior decorations, and she turns to the older woman, with a slight note of panic in her voice. “So-here’s the thing, I don’t want to marry any of your kids.”

The woman raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow up as she glances up at Selene, the look from their first meeting bleeding back into her expression.

 

“Not that I mean any disrespect,” Selene quickly backpedals. “I’m sure they’re grea-er,  _fine_. But I don’t have anything to offer you. There’s no money, my whole inheritance was this ridiculous marriage contract so really, its a bad business decision on  _your_  end to carry it out, if you think about it. How about instead of tying one of them down to some unknown dalish girl, I just pay for like, a year of membership to a professional dating service. What do you say? IHarmony? OKMythal?” the sound of footsteps is getting louder now, whoever she called nearly upon them. Her voice cracks as she continues her plea “…AndrastianMingle?”

 

Three more elves descend down the stairs. One has arms covered in ornately done tattoos that resemble the wings of an owl, with thick rings laid over most of his fingers. Long blonde hair that is currently pulled over his shoulder, covering a part of his leather jacket and fake-faded band tee. His eyes remind Selene of the elven woman still standing beside her, though the lecherous feeling he leaves as they rake over her form are more reminiscent of the wolves in the woods back home. The next has shorter black hair, floofed up slightly on top of his head, and has most of his skin hidden beneath what looks to her to be a suit jacket hastily thrown over a pair of high-end pajamas. The third is practically lounging over the shoulder of the second, his own hair long and sleek and black, skin peppered with freckles and a slightly bent nose, staring at her expectantly.

The older woman next to her makes a shooing motion at the third man, who makes a dramatic pout before skipping down the remaining stairs and standing just behind Selene. She has the distinct impression that he’s staring at her ass and legs, but her already heightened anxiety in the situation is preventing her from speaking up about it.

 

“Selene, these are my sons,” the woman states, gesturing to the two elven men still on the staircase. “Falon'din, and Dirthamen. One of them will be your husband.”

 

“I’ll take her,”The blonde one speaks, pretending to seem disinterested despite the fact that his eyes haven’t left her since he entered. “I’m the oldest, and the old man keeps bitching about me settling down anyways. Those legs open, right?”

 

Selenes shoulders raise at his comments, her own impulsiveness finally breaking through her wall of nerves. “Not for you! No one is 'taking’ me!” She turns to the woman beside her, glaring down in full fury. “This whole situation is ridiculous; I’m not marrying your sons because of some awful contract my awful father signed before I was even conceived! I do not know them, and I will not be spending my life with someone whom I have never even had a conversation with! Whatever game you may think this is, I’m not playing it!”

 

The man behind her snickers, and she thinks for a moment she sees him give a thumbs up to someone.

 

“…I suppose it is unfair to make you choose when you have no prior knowledge of my children,” The woman relents. “Very well. You will stay with us for a month, and in that time you will get to know each of my sons. At the end of the month you will make your decision, or I will find another way for you to repay your fathers debts; we could always use more 'helping hands’ at the Tevinter estate.”

The woman dismisses herself without another word, leaving Selene alone at the bottom of the staircase with the men of the family.

 

“I’m impressed you got so much wiggle room,” The freckled man behind her speaks up. “Mythal’s not really known for  _leniency_.”

“Sure, 'wiggle room’,” Selene gripes. “Marriage to a stranger or enslavement; such great options, really. Who could resist.”

 

The man snickers again, tossing an arm over her shoulders. “You’re gonna be fine,” he assures her. “My names Des, and I think we’re gonna be great friends. Word of advice though? Try not to spend too much alone time with Falon'din; he really  _is_  that bad.”

“Fuck you!” The blonde yells, quickly hopping down the stairs and grabbing Selenes ass through her pants before making an approving noise.

 

She slaps the hands of both men away, and starts walking backwards towards the doorway she came in from; maybe if she just  _runs_ , they won’t be able to follow her. But as she does, she finds herself stopped by another form behind her, as two dark hands settle over her hips.

She screams, flames igniting around her as she spins to light up the new stranger. The shorter, older man grabs her wrist before she can summon a true fireball and laughs, seemingly thrilled by this turn of events.

“SPLENDID!” He announces. “WHAT WONDERFUL FLAMES! AND CHILD BEARING HIPS- YOU’LL MAKE A FINE ADDITION TO THE FAMILY! PLEASE; IF THERE IS ANYTHING I CAN DO TO ENDEAR YOU TO MY SONS, DO NOT HESITATE TO ASK!”

“…You could let me leave,” Selene tries, pulling her wrist out of his grip.

He frowns at that, and shakes his head before booming “YOU HAVE NOT EVEN SHARED DINNER WITH US! WE ARE NOT SO STRANGE; EXCEPT PERHAPS DIRTHAMEN, BUT YOU WILL COME TO LEARN OF SUCH THINGS YOURSELF! TELL ME SELENE; HOW MANY CHILDREN DO YOU HOPE TO HAVE?”

 

Two surprisingly strong hands grasp onto the sides of her shoulders, and guide her through the living room and towards the kitchen. She turns with pleading eyes towards the only person still around who  _hasn’t_  touched her against her will, and mouths a silent  _'HELP ME’_ to the dark haired, silent elf still standing on the stairs. His brow furrows, and a moment later he is gone, Des chasing after him.

 

_Well,_  she thinks.  _This is hell. My father died and dragged me to hell with him._

_Asshole._


	19. Drunken Bet Engagement AU

Selene groans as she rolls over in bed, head pounding, sunlight streaming through her curtains too brightly while the buzzer for her apartment door drones on and on.

“M'coming!” She yells, half mumbled while she licks her lips and stumbles her way into the closest pair of pants she can find.

 

She finally manages to get to her front door, pulling it open and glancing up from her partially hunched position to see someone who is, probably, the  _prettiest_  elf she’s ever seen. Their hair has been perfectly constructed, there’s not even a hint of lint on their perfectly tailored suit, and she’s fairly certain he’s not even wearing mascara and that his eyelashes just  _look like that,_  although there’s a telling sheen on his lips that reminds her slightly of her own strawberry lip gloss.

It occurs to her, briefly, that with her frizzy just-rolled-out-of-bed hair, the undoubtedly dark bags under her eyes, and the fact that she didn’t get a chance to shower when she got home last night, she probably looks like she rolled out of an actual dumpster fire in comparison.

 

“You must be here for Des,” She groans, hand running briefly over her forehead. “Just one sec, I’ll go get him for you-”

“I am here for you, actually.” The man says, clearing his throat slightly.

Selene blinks.

Squints.

Is she….still asleep?

He does seem  _vaguely_  familiar, but her head is still pounding from dehydration too loudly for her to think clearly about it.

“Me?” She says, though it sounds more like a squeak at the moment.

The man nods slowly, and she only now notices the small suitcase behind him.

 

She opens her mouth to mention it, but is abruptly cut off by the voice of her roommate.

 

“ ** _Hey_** , it’s pretty boy!” He cheers from behind her, and Selene slumps further against her door frame in a futile effort to shield herself from the noise.

“Des, please…inside voices, we’ve discussed this…”

“Tequila hitting you hard in the morning light, babe?” Des teases, gesturing for the elven man to finally step into their apartment.

He  _is_  one of Des’s friends then, she supposes. That’s fine, she thinks, but if they’re planning on moving in with him, they might be in for a rude awakening of what sort of relationship Des has with his ‘friends’.

 

She sneaks a water bottle out of the fridge while the pair chat near the door, and takes a long, cold drink, peeking at them out of the corner of her eye. The pretty one seems to be confused about something they’re explaining to Des, who lets out a long laugh at the end of it.

“Selene, what the hell did you do last night?” Des asks, still far,  _far_ too loud.

“I took you to that club you begged to go to, you had too much to drink, I tried to get you out and onto a bus home and then….” Selene hums, coming up on a small blank space in her memory. “Something about cards…?”

“You were invited to a poker game by the owner,” The pretty man claims.

Selene squints. “Are you the owner?”

“No…”

_That’s good,_  she thinks,  _he might be here to collect money for property damage or something if he were._

“…My father is. Elgar'nan Evanuris?”

 

Memories race back into Selenes head; a long game of poker for free bus passes, escalated up and up and up until…until something big, she thinks.

Shit, what did she  _bet_?

 

“…Right,” She says evasively. “And that makes you…?”

“Dirthamen Evanuris.”

She nods. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

His eyebrows crease in concern, as he looks at Des, who only puts his hands up in a _'hey dont look at me’_  manner, before turning back to Selene. “Do you not remember?”

“I…might’ve had a little too much tequila,” She admits. “Care to fill me in?”

“You bet my father for my hand in marriage,” Dirthamen explains. “And then you won.”

Selene blinks, and shakes her head slowly. “I… _what_?”

 

“You said he was pretty,” Des chimes in.  “and then he blushed, and when his dad raised the pot he tossed him in because you seemed so prone to making compliments about him. It’s nice; you deserve pretty things. People,” He makes a vague gesture towards Dirthamen “ _Him_.”

“How do  _you_  remember this?”

“ _I_  can handle my alcohol.”

“You couldn’t walk!”

 

Des just gives a shrug while Dirthamen drops a familiar pair of car keys into his hand. “You left these at the club last night. I hope it is alright, I used your vehicle to get here so that I could return it to you.”

“Did I leave my lip gloss too?” Selene asks, glancing at the familiar sheen of his lips again.

Dirthamens face turns a pale shade of pink. “Ah…yes. I apologize. It smelled very nice.”

Selene gives a casual shrug, and mumbles into the lip of her water bottle. “S'fine. Suits you.”

 

“Do you cook, Dirthamen?” Des drawls, leaning on the other man.

“A bit.”

“Can you make scrambled eggs?”

Dirthamen gives an affirmative nod, and Selene gives Des a dirty look before quietly adding. “…with cheese, please.”

 

The smell of the cooking eggs begins to fill the apartment, and Selene watches eagerly as he adds in a few pieces of onion and bits of bacon to the pan. It smells so good, and she is  _so_  hungry.

 

“So…” She finally says from across the counter, still watching this strange, beautiful man cook her breakfast. “Your dad bet you in a poker game with a stranger and that uh, stuck? Like that’s just…normal? You go 'ok’ and show up next day with a suitcase at my apartment?”

“I do not know if 'normal’ is the most accurate word to use,” Dirthamen muses. “But my father is very adamant about not reneging on his bets, no matter what his sobriety level might have been when it happened.”

Selene hums as he divides the eggs onto three plates for all of them. “You know, I’m not going to make you do something like this against your will. I’ve bet all kinds of crazy things in games before, but once everyone’s sober it’s sort of like a clean slate.”

He blinks up at her, fork still in his mouth and swallows before responding. “…I do not think I would mind following through on this bet.”

 

Selene can feel her face flush while Des lets out a laugh beside her. “Man, your family life must be like,  _really_  fucked up.”

“ _Des!_ ” She hisses, elbowing him lightly in the side.

“It might be,” Dirthamen shrugs all the same. “I do not have very much to compare it to, other than television shows and movies which I have been assured are very rarely true to life.”

 

Selene frowns, still staring at the man across the counter from her. Someone just desperate for a way to get away from their family is…certainly something she can relate to. She can’t just send him  _back_ , right? What if something like this happens again and he ends up somewhere worse? Maybe she doesn’t have to marry him, but they could just like…be friends, probably. Give him a safe place to stay, he might be able to help out with money issues, it could be good for everyone.

“Alright,” She decides. “You can stay here. There’s no pressure or anything about the marriage part of the bet though, ok?”

His eyes widen as they dart between his suitcase and Selene a few times before he slowly nods in agreement.

 

Selenes not sure what is meant by the movement, until Des grins beside her, leaning forward and asking Dirthamen “You brought a ring, didn’t you?”

He nods again. “The paperwork necessary for legal marriage in this area, also.”

 

Selene nearly chokes on her eggs.

Oh man.

She’s never going drinking with Des again.


	20. Storming the Castle AU

It is nearing midnight as Selene stretches out over her twin sized bed, feet dangling over the edge while she inspects the strange necklace she’s holding up over her head.

The necklace has an asymmetrical design, littered with black opals and one long feather hanging down the side of it. She’s not sure whyher uncle left it to  _her_. Alaris should have rightfully claimed everything when his father passed, but this one item in particular was placed aside for her, and mailed to her apartment with an ominous note.

_Have fun storming the castle!_

Selene frowns, curious and conflicted at being remembered by a family member after her sudden and violent departure so many years ago. But Hahren Mirvallas had always been kind to her; had nurtured her desire for adventure and travel and even helped her when her magic started to bloom in ways that were counter to her parents gifts.

She runs her thumb over the smooth surface of one of the opals and lets out a breath, holding the necklace to her chest as she finally lets herself drift to sleep.

 

When her eyes open again, she nearly drops it.

Around her are not the familiar beige walls of her empty apartment. There is no window showing the seedy alleyway behind her building, no popcorn ceiling with discoloring around the edges, no half melted candles to try to cover up the smell of old dust and mold.

No, instead she’s standing in still green water, staring at huge rocks floating in the sky high above her. Some are connected by vines, but most seem to be hovering unsupported by anything at all.

And a few rocks away, floating far above her head, is a large black silhouette. Just staring at it sends a chill down her spine, something unsettling deep in her subconscious that thinks she should do whatever it takes to stay far, far away from what appears to be a vast, looming, castle.

Something in the back of her mind wriggles. Some memory, some instruction some….

_Have fun storming the castle!_

 

…oh  _ **fuck**_  no.

No.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

Selene is not going to be the person at the beginning of a horror movie who finds some terrible, seemingly abandoned old building and lets her curiosity get the better of her and then oh look at that, she’s dead and the title comes up on the screen for the audience.

No way is that going to be  _her_.

 

She crosses her arms over her chest in defiance, careful not to damage the necklace as she does, and spins on her heel to start walking in the exact opposite direction of the castle.

Selene makes it about three steps before she hears something behind her growl. Low, and menacing, the vibrations strong enough to create small waves in the water she’s still wading through.

 

Selene has enough time to think one more curse before the creature pounces towards her. She leaps to the side, narrowly avoiding it’s claws as they scrape a hole into the sleeve of her oversized sleep shirt. She scrambles away, quickly looping the necklace over her head to free her hands as she looses a fireball at it.

It is… _far_  more potent than she expected.

What she had planned to be a handful of flames becomes easily thrice that size, thick and purple with a blindingly white center as it strikes the face of the beast, which rears back in pain, screaming loudly enough to echo even in the expansive space around them.

 

Selene takes a hesitant step back, gaze darting quickly between her hand and the creature, the fur on its face nearly gone and still red hot on the edges of its remaining strands.  
She doesn’t wait long enough to let it try to kill her again, running as fast as her bare legs will take her towards the castle.

_This is what I get for going against the instructions,_  she thinks bitterly.  _Storm the castle._ _ **Right.**_

 

The silhouette in the sky grows and grows as she gets ever closer to it, before the error of her plan and the vagueness of her uncles note strikes her.

The castle is at least a mile up in the air.

There is no ramp, no stairs, no accessible way for her to get to it.

 

_Jump._ Squawks a bird, perched at the edge of one of the other floating boulders.

 

Selene blinks, and tilts her head at it. “Sorry?”

 

_**Jump.**_ It repeats again, wings flapping at its side.

 

“Yeah, I don’t…”Selene gestures to the floating boulders. “I’m not capable of that. I don’t have wings like you do. And with physics, and my muscle mass…”

There is another loud growling from behind her as the beast begins to close the remaining space between them.

 

_Jump, or you will die._ The bird assures her.

She doesn’t doubt the truth of it.

…well. Guess that really only leaves the one option.

 

Selene takes a deep breath, staring at one of the lower boulders that is still nearly fifty feet off the ground, and runs towards it. She leaps on the last step, arm outstretched as she feels the air pick up beneath her, almost helping her to get there as her fingers connect with the smooth surface  and she clambers to lift herself. It takes her a moment, but as she settles on the flat top side of the rock to catch her breath, she peeks over the side to check on her pursuer.

The cat-like beast is growling quietly, circling the ground beneath her, but as it leaps up, it seems unable to make the same jump that she did, landing back on its paws on the wet ground below with an unhappy whine instead.

“Ha!” She blurts out towards it. “Serves you right!”

 

The bird that had helped her lands beside her and stares up at her uncertainly, even as it assures her that she did a very good job.

_Where did you get that necklace?_ It asks.

“Oh,” Selene replies, finger rubbing over the stones absently. “My uncle left it to me.”

 

The bird nods slowly, and she takes a moment to look at it more closely. It has four eyes, and is abnormally large, even for a raven. Not only that, but the feathers in its wings are nearly an exact match for the one hanging from her necklace.

She wonders…hm…

“Do you know what it does?”

 

Four red eyes narrow. 

_Do you **not**?_

 

Selene shrugs. “Not really. There was a note that mentioned storming a castle-which I have to assume is that really creepy looking one over there-but nothing else.”

 

_Well, that might explain your face._

 

One of her hands reaches up to press against her cheekbone as she frowns. “What’s wrong with my face?”

 

_It is bare… And too familiar to be safe._

 

“What does that-”

 

_It is a long walk to the castle from here,_  the bird interrupts.  _You should hurry before you run out of time._

 

Selene lets out a small huff of air, but stands up all the same, brushing stray rubble from her knees as she does.

From here, the boulders look more like a path than randomly strewn as they had on the ground. She leaps from one to another, almost graceful once she’s gotten the hang of it. The bird remains, keeping an eye on her for a reason she can’t quite figure out as she goes. She finally arrives at the doors of the castle, huge and rotted, and hesitates.

 

“So…storm the castle, yeah?”

 

The birds head tilts.

_I would not call that a wise choice, in your current attire._

 

Selene stretches out the bottom hem of her mathlete shirt, sleeve still torn from her earlier encounter and considers their words again.

“What would you recommend?”

 

_Armor. Weapons. Training. Perhaps another plan all together, if you are amenable to it._

 

“Any idea where I could get that sort of thing around here?”

 

The birds head tilts again, and it goes silent for a few minutes, save for the occasional clacking of its beak.

_The Great Aspect could help you,_  they finally say.  _I will take you to him._

 

The bird leads her up, up, up, to a much higher still path of boulders. It feeds into a large, spiraling staircase before she turns a corner and finds herself in the stone walls of a tower. Isolated from the rest of the castle, and much colder than the outside had been. The bird perches on a wooden beam as Selene finally reaches the bottom of the staircase.

Waiting.

_Call for him,_  it tells her.

 

She clears her throat. Rubs a thumb against one of the opals, and manages to call out a quiet. “Oh, Great Aspect? Are you….around?”

 

For a moment, there is nothing.

And then there is a flurry of ice and wind and darkness and feathers identical in shape, size, and color to the one around her neck. The room she is in seems to expand, growing larger and larger and larger until a form appears in the center of it. Dark and scaled, with six glowing red eyes boring into her.

 

“You do not call me that,” A deep voice booms as the massive form in front of her struggles to fully solidify.

Selene bows her head slightly, more than a little scared of the creature appearing near her and wondering if this whole thing has been a trap while she raises her hands in a placating manner. “Ok. No problem. What would you like me to call you?”

 

Six red eyes narrow as they focus on her necklace, a long shadowy tendril lifting it carefully from her chest. “Where did you find this? Where is Mirvallas?”

“He was my uncle,” Selene says, arms still raised. “He left it to me after he…passed.”

Two of the eyes close in something close to mourning as the voice grumbles out a low “Plague of mortality…”

“His death was painless, if it helps,” She tries, because it had helped  _her_  at least to know he hadn’t suffered. That his heart had simply…given out suddenly.

 

“It does not,” The voice returns, a bit more softly this time. “But thank you, I suppose.”

 

Selene nods, and gives an awkward, reassuring pat to the tendril in front of her.

It recoils in shock and surprise as six eyes widen again.

Narrow.

And then they are very uncomfortably close to her.

 

“What is your name?”

“…Selene,” She admits, unwisely.

The eyes open to their full size again, and for a moment, they flash from a bright red to a steel blue. So suddenly that it shocks her, as she steps back, clutching the opals again as her heartbeat quickens in fear.

 

“You should leave,” The voice declares, eyes pulling away from her as they raise back towards the ceiling and the creature straightens.

 

“But I-”

 

“ _ **LEAVE ME!**_ ” the voice booms, and it scares her so thoroughly that she wakes up alone in her apartment.

Still clutching the opals in her hand.

 

Her sleeve is still torn, and her feet are still damp as she glances at the note on her nightstand and tries to calm herself down.

Where  _was_  that?


	21. Haunted AU

The house has had like twelve owners in four years before Dirthamen got it, and all of them left because it was so Extremely Haunted. One of them even tries to get in contact with him to warn him and he’s just like ‘no I knew about the plumbing issue when I bought the house, it has been repaired’ because he thinks that the ‘dangerous situation’ they’re talking about.

He is a first time home owner, buying an old house, he was told to expect irregularities and some challenges and issues with upkeep, so that’s just how he approaches everything. 

When the random fires start he checks the electrical. But it’s fine, and then he realizes that the fires never actually  _burn_  anything. One time one starts on a kitchen chair but then while he’s grabbing the fire extinguisher it goes out and the chair is fine. So it’s just ‘something he keeps an eye on’.

The dishes in his kitchen tend to rearrange themselves in the cabinets. But that stops being an issue after he figures out the pattern and just changes his organizational system so that glasses go in the cabinet by the fridge and pots and pans go in the drawer next to the stove and so on and so forth.

Sometimes his telephone will ring with no caller ID visible and he’ll hear what sounds like a woman whispering indistinctly on the other end. He isn’t sure of the social conventions on that so he just ends every call by admitting that he couldn’t hear, but thank you, hopefully they’ll call again when they have better reception.

Sometimes he sees a woman in white standing at the top of the stairs. But usually only for a second or two.

Things get interesting after he’s been there for a year without fleeing in blind terror, like the other occupants. He discovers that if he leaves a book out on his desk every day, then it’s less likely for things to get knocked off of his bookshelves. And if he actually leaves the television on a documentary channel at night, it’s less likely for him to hear screaming or crying. Saying ‘thank you’ when his appliances work reduces the odds of them malfunctioning. Leaving out an extra mug of coffee in the morning tends to make the atmosphere much easier, somehow. Also, a good way to avoid starting random fires is to remain fully clothed.

Just when he thinks he’s getting the hang of home ownership, though, is when other things start happening. But they’re mostly good, so he doesn’t mind. The fridge begins producing lunches. Someone from an unknown number begins texting him to have a nice day in the mornings before work. His garden grows exceptionally well, and the light in the hall starts automatically turning on when he gets up to use the bathroom. The water for his showers always starts out warm.

When a spiritualist comes to his own and nearly faints dead away, talking about spirits and hauntings, Dirthamen supposes it explains a lot. But he’s not having difficulties, thank you, he likes his house very much.

It does encourage him to start talking out loud a bit more, though. And that seems to go over even better. The next day when he takes his lunch out of the fridge, he says a heartfelt thanks, and mentions enjoying the salad from the day before very much. 

The magnets spell out ‘you’re welcome’.

* * *

Selene supposes her newest house guest works a very difficult job.

She makes this assumption due to how often he seems to fall asleep in the middle of other tasks. While he is writing, or microwaving some foul smelling food from her freezer, watching the television; or one particularly frustrating time, while reading through a book she had been following over his shoulder.  
She is not always successful with delicate tasks such as turning pages, and her attempt had inadvertently flung the book across the room.

The sound of the the impact shattering a ceramic figurine had woken him, at least.

But now, staring at him sleeping carelessly on the couch, window still open on a cold autumn evening, she is only frustrated by his exhaustion.

The sun is going down, and he is deep in his slumber, and what if the chill that comes in the night makes him ill? She doesn’t need another ghost living in her house. One is  _quite_  enough, thank you.

It takes some doing, on her end. To solidify her hand enough to lift the blanket over him, to ensure that he does not shift and knock it off while she closes her living room window to try to keep out the worst of the cold. The window clicks loudly as she makes the lock settle, and she worries for a moment that he might wake at the noise.

It’s a ridiculous notion. A year ago, she would have closed it as loudly as she could manage. But something about him is not quite the same as the others. He is polite, and he leaves things out for her to occupy her theoretically unending time with, and he even says  _thank you_.

Selene cannot remember the last time she was thanked, in life or in death.

She watches his chest rise and fall with each breath beneath the blanket, staring at the flush in his cheeks. The flutter of his eyelashes, the blood in his veins, the  _life_  in his body. And for a moment, she is envious. She allows herself to feel it, mind flitting through what her own life might have been like if she had been born in his time instead of her own. If she were alive now, if she could walk outside and feel the breeze on her skin or the heat from her flames, or even taste test the food she prepares for him.

The mirror in the hallway makes a loud, crackling sound as it splits beneath the weight of her emotions, and she lets out a sigh.

Regardless of the hand she has been dealt, it is nice to have company that does not run or scream or call her terrible names.

Perhaps, in time, it might become  _his_  house too.

* * *

Sometimes, Dirthamen sees an apparition at the top of his stairs. A woman in white. Or, a woman who is made of white light. Perhaps both.

She is usually not looking at him.

And her expression is typically sorrowful.

But it is not a situation which causes him any harm, and it does not usually last for long. Sometimes the air at the top of the stairs feels strange after she is gone. Charged, like the air after a storm. The hauntings expert he consulted with insisted that Dirthamen’s house has a very extensive case of spiritual occupancy, and he does wonder somewhat whether the odd energy currents are a result of that, or if that haunting is exists because such energies enable the spirit to manipulate the space.

No one seems to have any answers to that, though he does discover it is a subject of some debate in a few circles.

It is only after he has been living in the house for some time, however, that he starts to see the woman in his dreams.

Even there, she rarely does much, and only occasionally seems to acknowledge Dirthamen’s presence. He does not always perfectly recollect the dreams, either. He thinks that they might have spoken a few times, but the contents of their conversations tend to slip from his thoughts. Leaving behind only the distant impression of a voice. Much like the strange phone calls that happened for several months, before the text messages replaced them.

One morning he wakes up with the distinct impression that he has promised to buy an automated page-turner. He gets one off of an online store that supplies them for people with mobility impairments. On balance, he supposes a ghost counts as such; and when he takes to setting up various books with the page turner in the morning before he goes to work, the atmosphere in his house becomes… different.

Almost bubbly.

The whisper slide of pages and the soft whirr of the machine turning them at steady intervals becomes a consistent addition to that ambiance. After a while, Dirthamen finds the machine turning itself off and on at random. Though he supposes that is the ghost.

The next dream, though, he does not recollect with much clarity. Nor the next. A few more months pass, and work becomes increasingly stressful as his mother presses her way through yet another hostile take-over. Dirthamen has to move a lot of money around to make things work as she wishes. It has him staying late nights at the office, and leaving earlier in the mornings than usual. When he gets home he typically has little energy for much more than microwaving dinner and then falling into bed.

On a hot night, he forgets his usual propriety, and after a shower that somehow took the last of his reserves out of him, he simply falls onto his bed. Forgoing pyjamas, unable to focus on the small corner of his brain that warns that this might result in a reprimanding house fire.

He drifts off.

He dreams of someone pulling the blanket off of the end of his bed, and trying to drag it over him. Fire burning the shade of his bedside lamp. Cool fingers brush against the back of his shoulder, and he sighs, and reaches out. When his hand closes over another hand, he hears a soft gasp.

_You’re so warm._

Dirthamen rolls over; somehow still struggling to move even in a dream. A woman hovers above him. Luminous, colourless, but in a way that says that all the colour has been leeched from a form that once held a richness of it. The hand in his grasp feels cool and his skin still feels hot. He presses it to his chest, and hears another gasp.

The fingers on his chest seem to grow more solid. Turning brown, losing some of their luminescence in favour of solidity. It tingles, slightly.

Green eyes widen. The ghostly woman spreads her palm flat against his chest, and bit by bit, the colour returns to her entire hand. It trails up to the middle point of her wrist, before finally stopping. Dirthamen feels slight callouses on long fingers. Her palm still cool, and soothing where it rests above his heartbeat.

His eyes slide shut, and his mind begins to slip away.

Which is odd, he thinks.

Was he not  _already_  dreaming…?

The last thing he feels before he actually falls asleep is the hand being snatched back from his chest. Turning back to pale white, as the ghost stares at her fingers, and then vanishes into the shadows of the room.


	22. Reverse Concert AU

Selene meets Deceit first.

Well, technically, she meets Gran-Gran first.

 

Gran-gran, who is barely taller than Selene when she catches her stealing from the market stall. Whether it’s the way her too large shirt is tucked into her skirt, her bare feet, dirty and scratched from the city streets and sidewalks, or the elementary school backpack Selene is carrying, emblazoned with the name of a school shut down nearly two years ago from budget cuts, Gran-gran doesn’t call the police on the young elf.

Instead, she asks if Selene would rather eat a full, hot meal with her own family.

The eight year old nods eagerly, too hungry to be wary of any potential danger as she helps quickly close down the stall, repeatedly reminding herself not to stick the smaller items into her pockets or mouth. It’d be rude to steal from someone who’s agreed to feed you, afterall.

 

The older woman’s home isn’t far from the stall, but Selene stays close by, checking over her shoulder for any familiar faces that might try to intercept her path to a warm meal.

No one comes, and Selene lets out a breath of relief when the door closes behind her. There’s nothing scary or anything in Gran-grans home. No chantry propaganda on the walls, no tevinter style blood magic alters she can see, not even any mysteriously locked rooms.

_Score._

 

“Harel!” Gran-gran yells from the kitchen, loudly enough that Selene nearly runs out the door anyways “Come say hello to your new friend.”

 

A small elf around Selene’s age pokes their face out from the hallway with an unimpressed look on their face. “I don’t  _want_  to be her friend.”

“Harel!” Calls another voice “Don’t be rude!”

 

Their face scrunches up, and they slowly come out of the hallway, stopping directly in front of Selene with their hands on their hips.

“I’m the leader!” They announce. “That means I’m in charge.”

Selene frowns, looking at them up and down. “The leader of  _what_?”

“My castle!” They announce, gesturing to the apartment. “That means I get to pick what we watch on the tv, and first dibs on bread rolls with dinner, and - _hey! You’re not wearing socks!”_

 

She looks down at her feet, still dirty and bare and looks back at the other child, who seems to have walked towards Gran-gran ranting about how come  _they_  have to wear socks if  _she_  doesn’t! This is foot imprisonment!  _Viva la revolution!_ Followed by a triumphant run through the house as they discard not only their socks, but also their shirt and pants and nearly their undergarments before another woman scoops them up in their arms and stops them.

“That’s enough, Harel,” She says. “Go put your clothes back on and wash up for dinner.”

“But  _Nona-”_

“I’ll make sure she puts socks on before we eat,” She assures them. “Now go.”

 

Harel pouts, but reluctantly collects their clothing from around the apartment and disappears into the bathroom.

 

“…I don’t have any socks,” Selene admits quietly, shuffling backwards towards the kitchen. If nothing else, she might be able to nab something she can cook with her magic, and get out before they realize what a mistake they’ve made.

“That’s alright dear,” Nona assures her as Gran-gran hums over the kitchen stove, still unperturbed and cooking up something that is making Selenes mouth water. “You can borrow some of Harel’s clothing, they won’t mind.”

“I think they might,” Selene mumbles, even as she follows them down the hall, backpack clutched tight to her chest.

 

When Nona offers to wash Selenes clothes, both the ones she’s wearing and the ones in her bag, she can’t really say no. It’s a ploy to get her to stay longer, (at least two hours, she estimates based on the laundromat she usually sneaks into) but if it means warm food and new clothes in the meantime…

She finally gets to eat after she washes her hands and face (and they offer to let her shower too, which she agrees to at least think about). Harel sits across from her at the table, and makes a fuss that she’s wearing their favorite shirt and skirt, but Gran-gran and Nona explain that they are  _sharing,_  and will get the items back later.

Selene can’t resist the urge to stick her tongue out at them, anyways.

 

The food is incredible, and Selene has third helpings of everything on the table before she starts to feel over-full.

The best problem she’s had in a while, really.

 

She lets out a long yawn, remembering halfway through to cover her mouth. Nona and Gran-gran exchange a  _look_ , and ask Selene if she’d like to spend the night.

“We have plenty of space,” they smile. “And we’d love to have you.”

Selene shifts around in the chair, and debates the offer. One night indoors might be nice; it’s starting to get cold out, and she’s pretty far from her usual spot. Plus, she’ll have to wait for her clothes to be done, and she really would like to take that shower…

“Ok,” She agrees, legs dangling in the chair. “One night might be ok.”

 

It’s two years later when she and Deceit meet Fear at school.

 

Deceit is spinning another one of their tales for their classmates, and Selene is sitting beside them and agreeing and asking the questions they’re waiting to have someone ask to get to the ‘good’ part of the story.

They’ve done the aliens twice this week, but it’s always well received because there’s no real rules with aliens so even if someone points out a hole in the story a simple 'well how do  _you_  know’ is usually enough to keep it going.

Selene had been keeping an eye on Fear already; too many familiar habits, like keeping your head down and never talking about  life at home, and always take the most well lit and populated routes if you don’t want anyone to notice you. So she’s almost surprised when they strike up a conversation with Deceit.

“You can’t just get abducted in a forest,” they argue. “The trees would block their line of sight.”

“Well, its an alien ship,” Deceit shoots back. “They have scanners. Body heat and stuff like that.”

“But they would have gotten all the branches that were above you when they used the teleportation beam,” Fear continues. “You’d be all scratched up.”

 

Deceits face lights up, and the two spend the better part of lunch time working through all the flaws in the story. She’s never seen Deceit take to someone so quickly. She’s almost, jealous, she thinks.

But then, she kinda likes Fear, too.

 

The talent show is the next year, and she’s the one who asks Fear to join them.

“Please?” she tries.

“I don’t sing,” they dismiss, handing the flier back to her.

“You don’t have to solo or anything,” She assures them “But we  _really_ need a drummer.  _Please?_ ”

“I don’t like getting up in front of crowds,” They try again.

“That’s ok! We’ll stand in front if you want! Deceit likes being the center of attention anyways, it’s why they’re planning on being lead singer  _and_  guitarist. You can be a backup singer like me! I’ll just be playing the bass part, which is silly if there’s no drums, right?”

“I…” Fear tries, resolve wavering.

“ _Please,_ Fear? It would mean a lot to me.” Selene pleads, sticking her lower lip out farther than it really needs to be.

Fear lets out a puff of breath and finally takes the flier from her. “We will need somewhere to practice.”

 

–

 

Des isn’t really sure how he became friends with Falon'din.

He remembers paying the guy a single compliment on his hair, and then there was a lot of rich people perks and free clothes and suddenly he was part of some 'inner circle’.

Which was strange, given that he doesn’t actually like the guy. And Des likes  _lots_  of people.

 

For example, Des quite likes Falon'dins brother.  
Dirthamen’s got a quiet sort of air to him, and the sort of eyes that make him wonder what he’s always daydreaming about. What makes him tick, what makes him interested; What turns him on.

 

So it’s not really a difficult choice for Des, when Falon'din punches his brother, that he should blast the blonde man into the wall.

Apparently though, it  _is_  surprising to Falon'din, who swears and screams and turns his fury on the man, claiming betrayals and gold diggers and all sorts of other things that are really only half true.

Des ends up with a few bruises and some spilled blood for his trouble, but Falon'din barely makes it out of the room before Des’s fireball goes off in his face.

 

Dirthamen is confused by his actions, but when Des answers with a kiss, there’s not much questioning to follow.

Well.

Not immediately, anyways.

 

It’s not a conventional relationship by most definitions. Dirthamen isn’t always up to matching Des’s libido, and they’re both still able to date and see other people. They don’t even really call each other boyfriends, in public. But there’s still dinners, and dates, and vacations together, and Des even moves into one of Dirthamen’s apartments. 

Plus, Des gets to be a barrier between Dirthamen and Falon'din, which is always a good time. He particularly likes the angry shade of red Falon'din turns when he starts talking about the way his brothers dick tastes; like he’s not really sure  _what_  he’s upset about exactly, because Falon'din is far more crude about his own bed partners, but it brings out a lot of rage and makes him lose focus and sure, the fight itself can be painful, but Des hasn’t lost yet, and Dirthamen is always particularly attentive after, so really its a win on all sides.

Still.

Dirthamen is the one to pay for things 99% of the time, because, well, he’s loaded.

Des tries to find free events that aren’t terrible, to try to even it out at least a little bit. Which is how he finds the concert in the park in the first place. He’s heard of a couple of the bands, but there’s one in particular he thinks Dirthamen might like;  _Corvidae_.

 

The three members take the stage last; they’re the big name closing group of the event, decked out in black feather accessories and boots designed to look like talons at the ends.

They start up with one of their most popular songs, energetic and bright but with a note of longing to the lyrics that pulls at his heart in a way that’s difficult to describe. Dirthamen’s face lights up beside him, fingers linking into his own as he’s sucked into the performance.

 

By the time they’re done, Dirthamen is nearly vibrating with energy he isn’t sure what to do with.  Des places a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, and relishes the groan it pulls from his partner. It’s tempting to push him down to their blanket and have his way with him right there, but…

Dirthamen has always liked being wound up. A bit longer couldn’t hurt.

 

“Come with me,” Des instructs, dragging him through the crowd and around to the back side of the stage.

“Where are we going?” Dirthamen asks, unsure of whether they are meant to be back here. Which, Des supposes is fair. They’re really not, after all.

“To meet the band,” Des grins. “I should thank them, after all. Getting you all riled up like this for me, and I didn’t even have to do any of the work.”

Dirthamen shivers, hand tightening in Des’s. “This may not be wise.”

 

“Don’t worry babe,” Des grins, knocking on the marked dressing room. “What could happen?”


End file.
